


Lie in Lime

by zero_paradise



Series: Lie in... [1]
Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, mature themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zero_paradise/pseuds/zero_paradise
Summary: Crime doesn’t pay—for the criminal or the hero. Short a dollar, late on rent Buttercup takes a job without knowing the employer. His professionalism is impressive. Probably a lie. Likely a trap. But she’ll buy into it for quick cash. All she has to do is model lingerie in front of her rival.
Relationships: Butch/Buttercup Utonium
Series: Lie in... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162973
Comments: 67
Kudos: 128





	1. Center Fold

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still working on my long tragic AU. But it’s a slow burn and I need a green fix stat. So this is an AU of an AU I’m working on lol  
> Enjoy! Please comment and let me know what you think!  
>   
>   
>   
> 

__

_Lie in Lime_

_Chapter One:  
Center Fold  
_

Whether or not Mitch Mitchelson canceling an hour before he was supposed to take Buttercup to the single most embarrassing night of her life was on purpose, was debatable. Mitch’s coworkers were always ducking out and leaving shit on him. Buttercup would have offered to help however, her commitment was already set in stone and unlike Mitch, she kept to it. Helping at the bar was more reliable. She knew it. The Knotty Pint was guaranteed cash and misery. After at least two drinks in every customer and suddenly they were blind to the Powerpuff’s face. It was nice, nicer than it should have been to have that layer of anonymity. Granted the girls were hardly in the news at all anymore. Monster attacks didn’t even make front page news. Buttercup was in and out before the beasts could add a single crack to the pavement. Blossom and Bubbles might send a text to check up. These days Blossom had more trouble with Bridezillas than Godzillas. Bubbles was usually arm deep in shit, literally. Buttercup visited the zoo damn near weekly, not just to laugh at her sister’s duress but two puffs were better than one. She could hold an elephant while Bubbles helped the doctors and talked the animal into comfort. One way or another, the girls were always on call.

Crime fighting however, is a thankless job. Her hours training boxing at the gym or her yoga class paid the bills, but only just, only when nothing else came up. Her grocery build was monstrous and offset her shitty apartment. Her car was the most frivolous purchase, why, WHY when she could fly?! 

_Buttercup, it makes the town uncomfortable. It’s inviting trouble. Keep the zipping to a minimum. Emergencies and crime only,_ or so said the fearless-previously-leader.

Mitch didn’t ask questions and offered her work at the bar. He kept an ear to the ground for other odd jobs; _this_ by far was the oddest. How he talked her into it was beyond her! Well. It was the hundred bucks for two hours and the possibility for more.

Apparently, the guy was an old friend. He was embarrassed of his work, he liked clothing—specifically making lingerie. The guy had his own studio for photography too, nothing weird Mitch claimed, all about the art. Today was a fitting and interview. If it worked, she’d model. At the very least it was hundred bucks. Fuck, she’d buy herself a new pair of knickers. _Mitch totally bailed!_ Buttercup groaned. Could she blame him? They were too close for him to see her like this. Too many unanswered questions and a step too far forward.

The area was nice. The studio in the artsy part of Townsville. Coffee shops on every corner, restaurants open till two in the morning, white lights strung in trees no matter the time of year for atmosphere. She’d been here more in middle school when stealing from museums had be the hot-in-crime thing to do. Buttercup checked the address and the text from Mitch: go in through the shared Garage. Stairs or elevator will take you to the second-floor studio. 

The debate if Mitch Mitchelson bailed because of work or embarrassment settled itself the moment the door opened.

“Fuck,” her jaw hit the floor. _Mitch. The. Bitch._ She had to look up, he was taller now. His muscles pronounced. The jet-black hair, styled, buzzed at the sides could have been anyone. It was his eyes that set her jaw back into place. Poised to bite, snap, and maul. Bright. Sharp. Green and violent. They were no different than her own glow, “You.” 

Embarrassed? Good guy? What else was Mitch lying about?

“Huh,” Butch rubbed his jaw, his tongue poking at silver rings looped around the corner of his lip. Without a double take or any retort Butch stepped back from the open door. Buttercup did not follow. He wasn’t serious. This was Rowdyruff Butch! The years might have been decent to him, but the years didn’t make scum golden or good. Buttercup refused to throw the first punch. She pocketed her hands collaring herself before her refusal failed to hold out.

“Your two hours start now, Butterbitch. Get walking.”

“Oh.” What good were women’s pockets anyhow? Not deep enough for a phone, not enough to save him from her. Buttercup darted inside, the tip of her toe caught the door, it slammed behind her. The sound of it masked only by fists catching in Butch’s waiting palm.

“I’m not paying you for three, babe.” The tiredness at the door had gave way to a sick snarl, eyes lighting up at the friction between skin, the heat of Buttercup clocking him.

“You think I need an hour to deal with you?” She swiped for his legs. Butch brought his foot down on her calf. Her leg would have been broken if she hadn’t pushed back. Feet under her Buttercup launched again, her knuckles stopped at his jaw. 

His hands were lifted, fingers lazily curled. His smirk remained but his eyes glanced at his watch. Even Buttercup wouldn’t hit a criminal if their hands were up. He wasn’t the threat in this room. Oddly neither was Buttercup. Butch didn’t waste effort on what wasn’t important. His eyes followed his real targets. Eyes on the clock: time.

“Seriously. I’m not paying you for three hours, I don’t have time for three.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Butch didn’t even roll his eyes. His hands came together. He loomed towards her, “this ain’t a trip, Butterbitch. You going to fucking work for the cash or do I need to call Mitch.” His eyes narrowed and Buttercup laughed loud.

“Shit he screwed you too? What’d he say about me, huh?”

“She’s a powergirl. A real babe. A nice ass.”

“He didn’t!” Buttercup cut him off, was that really what Mitch said behind her back? Locker room talk bullshit? She’d smash each of their faces in, rip their lips clean off their faces! Butch shrugged and let her believe what she wanted.

“Half now,” Butch held up a fifty, crisp and wrinkle free. 

Buttercup snatched the green. “Are you serious?” Money first, questions after. She should have postured for the full hundred, but Buttercup wouldn’t hesitate to knock his brains out if he short changed her. He could take it. What he couldn’t take was the question. 

He rolled his eyes and caught his neck in his hands, “yes.” A quick answer, tired and used over and over. Buttercup recognized the defeat. It suited the greens poorly and they wore it always with exhaustion and irritation.

“Cool.” She didn’t challenge him again. A Rowdyruff with a passion for design and fashion was unheard of, but so was Buttercup: the toughest fighter in makeup and giving a second thought to her attire. All her life people made assumptions about her. Her work out pants too tomboy, leggings to form fitting and best for Blossom. Why was she wearing one earring, did that mean something? Right now her wallet was the biggest dictator of her closet. Growing up more clothes were ruined than could be bought. She took the messier jobs for her sister’s sake, not from lack of caring of her own person.

Her only concern was exposure, Mitch promised it wouldn’t be an issue. That this was just to get the shop up and going, to pursue a personal interest rather than anything mainstream. The boutique under her feet on the first floor and the expanse of the studio space would beg to differ. This wasn’t a fleeting fancy. Where did he get the money for everything? Buttercup didn’t want to kick his ass for the answer; she didn’t ask afraid the crisp fresh cash would wither and dirty the instant he told her. Mitch also promised his friend’s silence, he was embarrassed about this whole project. It’s why he couldn’t advertise for models more qualified and sought a contact through friends instead.

“You’ll want to change into this.” Butch approached her with a modestly long black robe and slippers. Her hand touched her chest looking at it then him, his expression unbothered.  
“You can change there.” He pointed at a shuttered folding shade. Her fingers twisted in her hoodie’s tie. Butch sighed, “Or the bathroom.” He jerked his hand behind him at the other end of the studio. The shade was beside a platform with lights and a chair. A table with fabric and notebook on the other side of the platform and a distance away from the shade. An ugly black cord ran along the floor to a black box behind the shade. 

Buttercup closed her eyes, a blink to anyone but Butch, he saw the world just as quick. She had focused in and listened: the box a spaceheater set up for her comfort, everything staged. 

“Look. Is this because I’m a ruff or are you not up for this shit?”

“What?” Buttercup snapped at his cool drawl, Butch a master at toeing the line of irritation and nonchalant. You’d have to be just as skilled to tell the difference; Buttercup couldn’t see it, her scowl came from weakness rather than a personal slight against the man.

“Are you scared?” 

“What?” She balked, “No!”

“Then take your clothes off.” There it was. There was the face she had smacked off him more times than any person could count. Haughty. Horny. Cocky. He knew what he was saying, how it would be taken, when to shrug and blame her for not listening. 

Buttercup snatched the robe.

“Do you need the bathroom, for real? Got razors in there Butterbabe. Clean up nice for daddy, will ya?”

His attitude hung on victory, berating her while she answered the first challenge. Scared? No. Never. Her body was nothing to be afraid of, he didn’t know what he was in for. Buttercup treated herself right. She jogged every morning. Before Yoga class she did a session for herself; she boxed and defended the town as needed. Her body was the only reflection of her dedication. A shame her bed lumpy and on the floor without a box spring did little to support her efforts. 

“A mirror? The fuck Butch. Pig.”

“You’ll want to see before you step out.” He spoke in regard to the outfits they’d be trying on, “You’re welcome.” She hadn’t thanked him.

“You can try on that bright one first.” That one being a yellow number hanging on the back of the shade. Buttercup draped her robe over a chair that had been set up for her. Without her jeans she was thankful for the gentle wave of heat from the space heater. The fabric was light, longer than she had expected. It felt more like a long top, the whispyness of a dress rather than a bra.

“What kind of bra is this?” Buttercup pulled it on, there was no support, her breasts hung in the small folds that gave it shape.

“It’s lingerie. Not a bra. Buttertits. Don’t fucking tell me the Bitch didn’t tell you that much?” The Bitch needed no explanation, Mitch the bitch, or just the Bitch. Feelings seemed to be mutual. 

“H-he, shit, shut up. He did. Duh. I was just expecting.”

“What? Scared I’m going to see your knockers?”

“Fuck Butch. Is this some gimmick to see tits, seriously?”

“X ray vision, baby.”

Butch heard her gasp, a threatening you bastard on the tip of her tongue. He laughed before she’d lash out at him. “Sorry to break it to you sweetheart, I won’t need to use shit.”

He wasn’t wrong. There was nothing to hide, the veil of cloth only decorated her skin, the floral embroidery around her breast tactfully hiding her nipple. If the straps were shorter it might sit in the center of the flower. The patchwork a complete map to the center of her breast. The sparce thong with a matching design worked well with the small patch of hair. 

Buttercup’s silence unsettled Butch, he didn’t bark any quips and waited. Patient. 

“I have pasties,” there was a ‘but’ he wasn’t offering. He’d given her a space heater, robe, slippers, and two chairs without asking. This wasn’t despite her being an enemy, this was business. 

“I’m alright,” She offered sternly. Too stiff to be true, her voice too tight to welcome any pushback without a snap.

“It’s fine. I need you to be comfortable. But I’d like to see how the clothes look. Complete.” Buttercup caught her own look of disbelief in the mirror. Butch wanted her to be comfortable? Was this the same guy? Her reflection wasn’t alone in the mirror. It was the apartment behind, curated curtains and shelves to house his dreamed emporium. This was something more.

“They look frumpy. The thong is falling off my ass. Seriously, my cheeks are holding it into place. The sides to this thing are huge!” Her laugh was joined by his. Her sisters could be crass, but Buttercup failed to cross that bridge with them. Her humor centered on teasing the pair of them or cheap shots at herself. 

“I’ll adjust that. Waddle out, keep it clenched. Hold the top to your tits.”

Buttercup strutted, “oh shit.” She laughed in short gasps and reached down to catch the small fabric. The small tilt forward left her breasts practically spilling out. Butch hadn’t been joking, she should have clenched and clutched. Her embarrassment fully evident, blush running down her cheeks. Arms. Her hand cupped her breast, her fingers twisted in the excess fabric. The straps slipped.

“Who were you making this for?”

“Shut up.” Butch had been using himself as a model. His eyebrows knitted together seeing just how much taking in he’d have to do. He had the dress forms. He hated how the looked on the blue and red fabric, without actual tits and ass. It was all wrong, he didn’t say it, he knew how it sounded. At least he straps were adjustable, but even at their shortest most would be too long. He fixed the straps first, as much as he could. Buttercup twisted the thin fabric again and stepped onto the platform.

“Hold this.” Butch handed her the front of the top and grabbed four pins from the table. She took it pinched between her fingertips, her palms were sweating and twisted in the flimsy fabric. He’d notice in an instant. At this distance, nothing was hidden, Butch could see everything. She thought that with every article she tried on for measuring. Four bras, three panties, two camisoles, and one babydoll. None had gone without adjustments. All had her under a microscope.

 _He’s not staring. He’s not looking at my vagina. Oh god. He’s right there._ Buttercup went rampant. Her shoulders rolled back not a single sly comment present. Butch was pinning the fabric at her hips. His fingertips rough and calloused. His silence was impressive, he re-pinned the fabric on her hips twice and marked several spaces along her shoulder. Buttercup changed into the next outfit. The applique of the lace covered her stiffening nipple. 

“ ‘Ey. what’s the temperature in here?” Buttercup joked. Apparently, the heating sucked on this floor, Butch left a moment to adjust the thermostat, more agreeable than she expected. Professional. He, a Rowdyruff was being _professional._ She hugged herself for warmth and in disbelief, on the stage under the lights she was barely any warmer; this fabric nude and thin. She hated it more than the others. She felt naked rather than fanciful like the yellow draped top. It was too close to her skin tone. Too thread bare and shear. He said nothing of it and marked measurements again.

“So.” Butch stepped back from his handwork, his hand on the back of his neck, his rings clinked on something. “I know we were focusing primarily on the fitting today. But.”

“But.” Buttercup repeated, for once she could look down on him without being in flight. Her hands slid to her hips; she lifted her chest. We had a deal, buddy, the posture said. Go on, say something the tilt of her hips encouraged. I will fuck you up, her stance promised. 

Butch tilted his head up and stared. He was entirely still. She only noticed because Butch constantly fidgeted. Small ways when he wanted to be nonchalant. Tongue over his teeth, tapping his thumb on his thighs, behind his neck. The clinking ring stopped. His eyes thoughtful, full of something more than what she expected of him.

“I want to photograph you now.”

“In this?!” Buttercup spat, her foot stomped, the stage shook.

“You can choose another, shit. I’ll pin it back. I just want to see if this works.”

“Duh, doi. Look at me?” She gestured, hands unintentionally framing her breasts. “Do you like what you see?”

“Shit bitch, trying to trap me?” A wolf could only stayed clothed for so long before his teeth glinted under the sheeps clothing. “I’m saying, the only picture people have of you is covered in monster guts.” The papers caught green streaks and crazed smiles. Rarely did Buttercup join her sisters for the press stands, rarer now that she was the only active monster destroyer and crime deterrent. Who knew how she looked? It was better that way, better to be a wonder.

Buttercup scowled. Besides SHE knew how she looked. She looked damn good!

“Fine!” Buttercup zipped over his head. Behind the shade. If he wanted her on photo she wanted one of his better works, not that any were bad. Though some of her favorites were scantily clad. What did it matter? Buttercup had no doubt Butch had seen her tits once or twice in a fight, their fists too wild, their clothing far from super. At least this time they weren’t covered in grime and sweat. _Fine._ He wanted a real audition? She would ace it. She needed the money, a job like this was easy.

“Is the bed back there for VIPs only?”

“Work use only.” Buttercup heard a laugh in his voice. “I have way too many fucking sheets with matching pillowcases. What? Wanna use it? I’d break a law for you, Butternut.”

“Work use,” a streak followed her form across the room. The wooden floor suddenly a black and white tile around the bed space. Photo umbrellas flanked the bed, a tripod already set out in front. Just to the side, a tall cabinet with square dividers and neatly floated colored fabrics. Leopard print. Really? Tacky mother fucker. 

“Let me pin it.” Butch said suddenly behind her. Buttercup flinched and whipped around and hugged the black robe closed. Her sisters had gone soft, they walked with ease and didn’t bothering hiding their movements. The world was loud and ever present. Butch was a mouse among them. Silent. She forgot what other supers were like when they didn’t trust the world around them.

“Actually,” She lifted her chin and held his eyes. The fabric pooled around her feet. “It’s a perfect fit.”

Butch wasn’t ashamed, his gaze fell with the fabric. It was his work he was admiring. A black bra, the shoulder straps splitting into triangle to frame each breast. It attached to shear fabric and scalloped lace. Buttercup wasn’t wrong. The embroidery on the center of each piece swirled her nipple. A pop of pink under the dark fabric. The band turned satin on the sides and encased the underwire for a secure hold. The panties used the same shear fabric, a similar embroidered piece down the center creating a happy trail of its own design. His fingers twitched.

“Lay down.”

Buttercup did as she was told. Butch adjusted the lighting and returned with his camera. She found his eyes even through the lens of a camera. She moved as he suggested, Buttercup acted without hesitance. Her confidence possessed his finger, he clicked, clicked, and clicked the shutter. The studio was alit with flashes, hardly able to keep up with his visions and her mettle. 

He didn’t need to plug in his camera to his PC to see Buttercup had slayed the audition. He also didn’t need her to see where he had zoomed in. He just wanted to see it again. Perfection! The bra sat perfectly! The swirl a perfect frame, a dark silver platter with a sweet pink candy under the veil. He did that. He MADE that!

“Do you want to see?” Brick always called him a moron. He only saw a worthless burnout who needed to do something. Butch had an odd thought. He hoped she didn’t see that. He wanted her to see this. This was fucking art.

“Oh,” Buttercup pushed her hair behind her ear. “No.” He wasn’t listening. He pulled up a chair to his desk and clicked away. Buttercup didn’t peak, she didn’t see his attention shift from screen to mirror. He’d been so busy loving he front—.

“Buttercup.” She stood with the black robe.

“Can I take a few more photos?”

“Oh,” Her hands slackened. 

“No. Like that.” Looking over her shoulder at him. The thin black strip of fabric between each cheek. He took only two photos and she slipped back into both robe and slippers. He hadn’t kicked her out. He didn’t tell her to stop meddling as she wondered the studio. He really did have every shade of the rainbow in sheets, a few wild prints, and varying fabrics. The studio was silent save Butch’s music playing through the speakers above them and his clicking on his keyboard and mouse.

She stopped back at table lined with pens, markers, and colored pencils. The bookshelves were packed messily, the table piled high and sloppily with magazine and spiraled books. She nudged one open. 

“Didn’t know you can draw.”

“Didn’t know you wear mascara.” Touché. But he didn’t tell her to back off. She sat in the seat and noticed a collection of porn magazines. She wasn’t repulsed and snickered, wow, she’d actually believe him if he said it was for the art. Who was he? They didn’t know much about each other, but in—oh. The clock on the wall mocked her at three hours. Didn’t have time for three, huh?

“This one doesn’t even cover the tits. It’s little a circle your boobs go through.”

“It’s sexy.”

“It’s pointless!”

“It’s meant to make your partner go crazy. The point is for it to come off.”

“I could wear this one under my clothes.”

He didn’t offer a counter. Time ticked on, Buttercup flipped through the pages and noted the dates when they had them. How many notebooks had he filled? He long had he been considering making these? How long was he going to ignore her? Buttercup leaned over the desk, she liked the coat on this figure, long, shear, with green fluffy trim.

“You listen to Doja Cat?” She hadn’t been paying much mind to his music, though it hadn’t been anything she expected. Everything had a smooth beat, easy to zone out to. The clock didn’t lie, even Buttercup had fallen victim to its ploy. It was nearly one A.M.; she still had to drive home and had an early yoga class to teach.

Buttercup snatched a pen to throw at his head. She stopped. He rocked in the chair, looked at the screen then back to a notebook in his lap. His hand danced across the page. Buttercup had never seen him so focused that didn’t involve a fist in someone else’s face. Butch tore people apart, he didn’t critique himself or artwork. She aimed the pen from his head to the paper.

‘Don’t call through Mitch,’ She left her phone number. Mitch was in her business enough as it was. He didn’t need to know how often she showed up, she didn’t need him freeing up time to join them either. What if he had seen her tonight? Damn near nude? Watching her roll on the bed and arch her back for every angle? ‘You still owe me hundred. I’m free after eleven tomorrow.’ If he was down to use her as a model, Buttercup was down for the extra cash. 

Buttercup floated to the shade, she swapped the delicate lace lingerie for her black underwear with green margaritas and limes. Her bra was a little classier, a pushup black bra with green pinstripes and center bow. She had been expecting to be seen in it from the start. She hadn’t been expecting a shade, robe, and space heater. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, everything she had even begun to consider threw itself out of the window when Butch answered the door.

She hid under her hoodie as if there was anything left to hide. She was barer in her clothes than she had been in any of his, even her underwear didn’t feel right. The last set fit like a glove, like it had been made for her. Everything else felt cheap. The clothes made her an open book: I need money, you can’t really see the stain on this hoodie so it’s still good, yes this is my best set of undergarments why else would I be wearing it?

Butch didn’t say goodbye, neither did Buttercup. She wasn’t afraid to rough him up for the rest of her cash later, she wasn’t enough of a hustler to interrupt his concentration for the remainder of the money. Buttercup damned the hero in her. He had promised the rest after they were done! Whatever. Tomorrow. Next Tuesday. Even next month, she’d get her cash. The lack of communication had not been surprising. 

Buttercup jumped. Her phone never rung this late! It was nearly midnight, just after eleven! Who the fuck called these days? It wasn’t the hotline chime. Her sisters were in bed hours ago, unless something else was wrong? Did the professor need something? The screen indicated no one she knew.

“What?” Buttercup asked sharply.

“Fuck. This how you answer all phone calls? No wonder why you don’t have a fuckin’ job. Where ya at Buttercunt?”

“Home?”

“Why?”

“I’m tired?”

“You said you were free after eleven.” His tone not accusatory though bothered. He cut her off, his patience worn thin. Was there any other mood of his? Buttercup dropped her towel and stepped into a red panty and the same bra as yesterday. 

“You didn’t text me.”

“The fuck would I text you for?”

She knew exactly where this was going, she switched to speaker to argue and dress. “How was I supposed to know you wanted me back? Yesterday was the trial.”

“What? Fuck. Just get over here will you? Shit bitch.”

Buttercup was already out the door when they hung up, but only just. She had debated if it was worth putting on deodorant. She was a stress sweater, there was always the risk of a monster that might work up a sweat. But what if the fresh coat rubbed off on his nice fabrics? ‘Shit Bitch,’ Buttercup in nasally tone, she’d knock him in the head for that. Buttercup gave each pit a single swipe and sprayed herself down with her Ariana Grande ‘Ari’ perfume, a gift from Bubbles. She claimed to only listen to the popstar for Bubble’s sake, she said that when she got them concert tickets and bought a shirt of each of her sisters and one for herself so she wouldn’t be left out. Buttercup wasn’t fooling anyone though no one told her to drop the act.

No one was on the road, not that she worried. She kept an eye and an ear out for pedestrians and cops and stepped on the gas. It would be midnight by the time she got to his place! But at hundred dollars an hour? Buttercup didn’t have the right to say no. She could take her sisters out to dinner rather than dodging their invites. She could buy new clothes, no doubt her students noticed she’d been rotating between three pairs of tops and bottoms, not her fault. Her other outfits had been ruined beyond repair from a monster. The price paid of being a super hero: being flat fucking broke. Or. OR. Her conscious reared its ugly head, you can pay rent.

She considered selling her car. Gas was expensive. It wasn’t right Blossom didn’t want her flying, if she flew high enough no one would even see! Thankfully, as always, before she could decide on a good selling price for her mustang Buttercup had to deal with something else.

Butch welcomed her inside. She tugged on the measuring tape wrapped around his neck, “Cute.” He was in the same Adidas pants, different tank top. She only knew since yesterday was red, today’s white matched his pants nicely.

Buttercup dropped her coat on the back of a chair, only noticing the empty hooks near the door after. Butch didn’t correct her and tossed something toward her. Buttercup caught the bundle with her left hand. “Holy shit, where the fuck did you get this?” Buttercup yanked off the orange rubber band and checked the wad of cash for dye marks or signs of counterfeit. 

“That’s compensation for yesterday. A raise. Pay for tonight and a tip.” Butch didn’t explain where he had gotten the cash from. Buttercup tossed it back.

“That’s too much money.” He hadn’t said they were in a game of hot potato, but the wad came right back to her hands.

“I’m paying you fairly for your time. I told you, I’m on a crunch.” Buttercup had never held six hundred dollars in her hands that wasn’t immediately being given to the police or the money’s proper home. It was never hers. 

“Can you stay till four?” Buttercup hadn’t moved on from the money much less the time. Could she afford to say no? Yes. She was surviving. Barely. But she didn’t need this cash, it was wrong to accept things ill gained.

“Butch. No. I can’t.” She tossed the money back at him. Butch’s hand recoiled, there had been force, he had to put in effort to stop its momentum. 

“I guess I could work quick, I was just going to do adjustments while you were here.” He was concerned for her time and his project. He tapped the wad of cash on his head and looked at the ceiling for answers.

“Butch I can’t take that money.” Time and the job had nothing to do with it. “You-“

“I what?” He interrupted. Buttercup’s lip curled. He knew what she thought of him, he knew what everyone thought of him. It was why his studio was empty, his name unknown, and he disguised himself at his own shop.

She’d been getting to that. “I don’t deal in dirty money, asshole. Did you forget who I am?” She punched her fist to the flat of her palm. He tossed the cash in the air and caught it without a glance. They eyed one another. Buttercup poised to attack. This was what she was waiting for, proof. He was a Rowdyruff.

“Bitch. If you wanna go, we’re going to have to put that shit off till next week.” He tossed the money back at her, Buttercup let it fall and skid on the floor. Butch grinned. “Seriously?”

Buttercup didn’t flinch, her hair rose, flashes of green spiking around her. She was her own personal electric wave, a current waiting for a fool to step too close.

“So can you just help me out?”

There wasn’t an audible pop but her eyes went wide and the energy sucked from the room.

“What?”

“I’m trying to enter a contest, Buttercup. They want two designs and thirteen different photographs. In three days.” He’d known about the content for a while. The flyer was crumpled and trashed, saved and straightened, then crumpled again. Butch had given up until he bitched about it to Mitch. He had no one to work with! Who wanted to work with a fuck like him? He was a player. A monster. A Rowdyruff. No doubt the administrators would toss out his submission the moment he learned his name. 

Mitch said that was a great excuse to not even try, he treated Butch to a shot on the house. What started out as proving Mitch wrong had turned to actual inspiration. He scrapped all the designs except for the last one Buttercup had worn. Those had been made from boredom, these designs had a purpose. A woman to wear them. It wouldn’t even be he didn’t have a volunteer to wear his designs, now it would be Buttercup wasn’t wearing them. He sneered,

“I know. But. C’mon hero lady. Help? Do I need a white fucking flag? What?” He tossed his hands up. He didn’t know how to play victim or dude in distress. How did the rest of Townsville warrant the Puff’s attention? Normally they were under a giant foot, facing devastation, and destruction. What would do that to him?

He couldn’t say this was the equivalent. But it wasn’t fair everyone else got to do shit they wanted. So he used the funds he’d stolen back in the day to build himself a studio and flat? He bought property to be a productive member of society. He couldn’t promise they money wasn’t free of blood. Could have been from a hit or it could have been a dress at his boutique he sold marked up fifty percent. Butch stuffed his hands in his pants. He wouldn’t beg. Asking had been demeaning enough.

Buttercup was being set up. Right? What else could it be? In what universe did Butch want to design clothes and have an entire base dedicated to the art? In what world did he ask for her help? 

“Why the fuck did you wait four fucking days, huh? Shit. And four AM? What the hell Butch.” It wasn’t fair to ask him anything else.

“You can crash on the bed. I’ll wake your ass up when I need you.”

“Oh your creepy sex boudoir bed. No thanks.” Buttercup tossed up her hands. “I’m not that tired.” She didn’t say she was staying; Butch didn’t ask. Some things were better left unsaid. “Do you even have anything? Why four AM Butch?” He hadn’t answered and asking him again wasn’t likely to get an answer. Buttercup answered for him, torment. He needed her but he couldn’t exist without being slightly monstrous. It went against his DNA. 

“I need some fucking measurements OK? Damn bitch. Take. A. Pill. You want a hit? I got weed.”

Buttercup was in his face in an instant, teeth barred, she seethed. “What did you say?” Him calling her a bitch, cunt, or twat were not offensive. Not to her. It rolled off his tongue like ‘um’ and ‘uh’ on others. They were space fillers. The time, the day, and his need had been the straw to break her calm.

“Damn,” Butch’s lip curled in a snarl, “bitch.” His hand rose, this was it, Buttercup knew it! He couldn’t help himself, the fight coming was sooner than she expected but she knew it was coming! Buttercup rolled her shoulders pulled back and ready to fight. 

Butch clicked a pen in her face, she jumped. Her face instantly a shade darker. A fist wouldn’t make her flinch, but a pen did? She didn’t need to see that smirk to know Butch thought the same, he put the pen between his lips.

“You can sleep in a minute.” 

Butch being gentle and mindful of her body had Buttercup on edge more than their fights did. He’d gotten her behind the shade and undressed for the second time. This time, she stayed in her own panties and bra, Butch pinned fabric against her.

“Shit, oops.”

Butch shrugged, Buttercup frowned. “What?” What did she miss?

“I stuck you with a pin,” he put another into her thigh, this time Buttercup yelped.

“Pussy,” Butch snickered. It hadn’t been a problem until she saw it. 

“Asshole.” Buttercup rubbed the skin, it hadn’t actually hurt, not really. Just a little prick gone in an instant. Rather than her as pin cushion, Butch stockpiled them in his mouth. 

“I miss the limes,” he said around the pins. Buttercup didn’t say shit, her body flushed and tense. When had he seen her out from the shade? Had he been peaking?! Buttercup kicked him in the shins, Butch made a noise that bordered on sensual. 

“Alright. Take a nap. Stop your bitching, I’ll wake you up soon.”

“I’m not sleeping in the sex bed.”

“Then sleep on the couch, go upstairs. I don’t give a fuck.” His hand fell onto her face and tried pushing her out of his was, she was smaller target than Boomer, stiff as Brick. Buttercup didn’t budge. Butch dodge a second kick against his shin. He zipped from her to his table and tapped his phone, “Na na” played all around them. Butch continued to surprise. 

“You are Butch right? Made of gunk. Literal shit. Right?” 

The music got louder. Buttercup let him have his silence and tucked into the black robe. Pants might have been easier but considering she was here to model and fit his lingerie Buttercup didn’t want to waste the effort to hide herself in clothing to only strip again.

The studio was like a grand hotel compared to her shitty box. The entirety of her place could fit in a corner of this place. There was no couch at home, there was her bed. Flat on the floor. Couch. Chair. Sleep space. 

Kicking her feet up on the arm of a couch and hugging a decorative pillow with a crude _“get in your rocket and fuck off back to Legoland, ya cunts”_ Buttercup used it to hide her smile. Butch liked Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright movies then? World’s End was her favorite, though Shaun of the Dead had been her favorite first, then Hot Fuzz, then World’s End. The trilogy got better and better, she’d watch it more if she had a TV or DVD player. Video games and movies both luxuries were afforded to her by friendship only. Mitch had the spare cash. He didn’t have to buy new clothes every week, even if they were second hand.

Buttercup flexed her toes and yawned. She needed to get sleep. A cat nap in a criminal’s dwelling was not high on her to do list or things she’d write home to the professor about. Unlike others she could take care of herself. Butch was a beast but Buttercup hadn’t caught wind of him doing any training. None of the Ruffs were on her radar at all. As far as anyone knew Buttercup was the only active super in the tri-city-town-area, super or villain otherwise. His punches would be like little stormy clouds. 

Two days in a row, Buttercup fell asleep on his couch. At five am, she woke with her own alarm and hissed a slur of worries as she kicked a blanket from her body. Buttercup never recalled sleeping with a blanket or a pillow, but she must have. There was no other explanation that it being on the couch and her in sleep her body made demands. 

“Later Butch,” She’d say in a rush. The second day wasn’t quite like the first when she fell asleep in her own bra and panties. This morning she had pulled her jeans over a delicate lace and bra. It would have been easier to fly. But. Buttercup groaned her sister had told her not to. The law also told her not to speed, when it came to choose between the two and being late, costing her money? Buttercup listened to family. She zipped through the streets and left her car parked and on. Careless? A little. She had little fear. Let a scum bag just try and break into her car and steal it, she’d break their neck.

Quick to get in and grab her duffle, quick to get out. She wouldn’t be late! She would, however, be stopped.

“Miss Utonium.” Her landlord cut her off, the apartment owner. He looked equal parts frightened and determined. These weren’t the apartments you’d see on any creditable listing. He was used to dealing with burners, runners, and dealers. A Powerpuff was a new tenant and new territory. Buttercup never had any complaints, hell crime went down around the area! She was an asset! She was also usually two weeks behind on rent. He was a smart guy. She was a crime fighter. Crime didn’t pay—for hero or criminal. He gave her a break, but everyone needed to get paid.

“Shit,” Buttercup slowed her role affording the man respect, he hadn’t ever slighted her and he was patient. “I know, I uh.” She was wearing the same jeans from three nights ago, the only payment she had actually collected from Butch stuffed deep into her small pocket. The rest she swore to get, foolishly she had thrown back at her quasi employer afraid it had been ill-gained. 

“This is all I have right now,” She handed the crumpled fifty dollar bill over with no reservations. There went new jeans, new underwear and a lavish take out dinner from the Thai place around the corner. “I’ll have the rest soon.” Buttercup lifted her chin and shoulders, serious mode. There was no reason not to trust Buttercup. She didn’t want special rules either, though being evicted was out of the question. 

The man checked the bill, his sigh was a thousand things: Fine. Okay. But hurry. I don’t know how I can throw you out—not because I don’t want to, because you could crush me. 

“Thank you.” Buttercup didn’t like saying certain Thanks implied she needed help. Help fell under that same category of words that left an acidic taste and burn on her tongue. Running would show urgency, another notch in the post that proved she needed the grace period. Damn the clock, Buttercup walked to her still in place car.

Routine ruined Buttercup. She booked it to her studio. Her yoga class took place at two times on Tuesdays and Thursdays, one at 10 o’clock at night and another at 6 AM. Clients were asking for an even earlier 5 AM class. She was in the process of getting that lined up. Her clientele were the people whose schedule didn’t allow for mid-day breaks or right after work in the evenings. Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays and her classes had an admirable attendance for a late night practice. Blossom and Bubbles came on Mondays, they were part of the group pushing for a 5 AM course.

Buttercup didn’t have time to change at home or in the bathroom. She was fine, it was only 5:45! If she changed in the room, she’d save time climbing the flight of stairs twice. She wasn’t even in the door when she began tugging off her shirt, the hall was empty. She slung it and her bag into the open room ahead of her and floated in the air as she wiggled off her pants. 

Why were her lights on? Mats on the floor?

“Oh.” Two voices said together. She hardly recognized her own, the other she might not have believed it if she hadn’t seen it herself. Brick looked taken back, he didn’t look away, his hat turned backwards meant his eyes had no shade. Buttercup had to stand by her decision. So he caught her in cherry panties and a black bra? So the fuck what. She put her hands on her hips. 

“I’m running late, Brick.” She gestured at the mats, “thanks.” Casual. Nonchalant. Brick said nothing, not unusual, but he hadn’t looked away in the same apathetic attitude she was used to. 

Brick was a surprising guest. The first time he showed up to her class Buttercup thought it was a joke, but there his name was on the register, two months paid. He claimed it was a trial period and that he didn’t know it was her. He’d been coming for over a year now. He’d only ever run into Bubbles; she chatted his ear off and twisted the Red’s body more than Buttercup. Yoga helped him relax. In this setting she had long ago forgotten he was a Ruff. Were all three were in town? For how long? Boomer had been in town the longest, she thought. Bubbles and he were ‘in touch’. Brick and her didn’t talk about the past. They talked about movies and working out. Protein shakes and yoga.

He helped teach one of her classes she hosted as a bachelorette party, she had been meaning to ask him if he was willing to do it again. Word had gotten around. It was a thing now apparently, they were both babes according to a post she had been tagged in. “For the mats?” Buttercup clarified, trying to draw his attention.

Brick schooled himself and sprayed down a met with a cleaner, he finally looked away. “You going to put on a class like that?”

“I just have to put on my legg—” Buttercup turned and bent over to pick up her bag. Her eyes followed her body in the mirrors as she straightened. A blush dusted her entire body, not as red as the g-string with sheer lace covering her nether regions or the matching lace top, nipples the center hearts. She scrambled for her bag and clutched it to her front.

“YOU JUST-“ Buttercup bellowed.

Brick shrugged, “You didn’t act like there was a problem.”

“There’s a huge fucking problem!” She was a moron. An idiot! Was there even a sports bra in the bag?! She didn’t want to tear through it to find out, Brick was right there, cleaning and washing down the mats as if none of it mattered.

“Brick!”

“It’s five-fifty. So,” he checked his watch. “You can fly down the hall and stairs, risk bumping into anyone or,” his back was too her now and he continued to lay down the mats for the clients who didn’t have their own. Brick had been coming long enough to know their place and who they were. They were essentially theirs, he would have made them buy their own by now. 

Buttercup reeled. Asking him not to turn around or demanding he didn’t peak felt like a loss. Beside, what hadn’t he already seen? “Fuck me,” Buttercup groaned ripping the zipper off its track in her rush. She didn’t stop to fret, she changed into a sports bra and forgoed underwear after removing the thong. She’d barely gotten her pants when the door opened. Brick zipped in front of it, he wasn’t the welcoming face the ladies were used to. There were a series of OH’s and off kilter ‘Good Mornings!’

“H-hey, welcome, thanks for getting the door Brick!” Thank you for stopping them, I’m not naked, you can look, she really said with the tone. It wouldn’t be the end of their awkward encounter. Today they had pair poses lined up. Brick didn’t do well with pairs, but he enjoyed the techniques and stretches. He agreed to only do them with a Puff. Bubbles, or usually, Buttercup. She suspected he was afraid of scaring off her clients or hurting them. Their bodies operated on a different level, Buttercup didn’t voice her accusation and the year’s silence paid off. Brick didn’t make it weird when they paired off. He waited as she inspected form then returned to him. 

This was an advanced class. Her stomach churned. Brick smirked and waited for her to get close enough, “Don’t get scared on me now.”

“Oh. You wish. Bend over.” The red head kept his mouth shut he bent and made a triangle shape with his body, his ass in the air. Feet and hands planted flat and firm. There was no easy way to do this that wasn’t flying up and laying herself on him properly. Being a teacher, it wasn’t a fair move and Buttercup instead went behind him. Buttercup was on her tip toes as she leaned over his ass, her stomach slid down his back, bringing his tank top with him. Halfway through the class, they were both coated in sheen of sweat. Her hands planted on the back of his. Buttercup arched and lifted her feet over her head into a backwards C. Finally her pelvis was free of him, could he tell she wasn’t wearing underwear? Every shaking breath, he’d feel. Brick knew it wasn’t the strain of the position or gravity working against her.

They switched positions, Buttercup becoming his support. He could tell couldn’t he? His hands completely hid hers, palms sweating their fingers naturally worked to thread together. Her elbows buckled slightly and she felt his weight lift. He was floating. “I’m okay,” Buttercup didn’t need to ask twice, the weight returned and she held position. Yoga was a good exercise for them both. Restraint and strength. Endurance. Today she was distracted, every pose she wondered if he knew, if he was thinking about it? Like his brother, his face was impossible to read. 

The rest of the class was quick to clear out. It had never been unusual for Brick to hang back and help her clean the floors or mats but today the air felt thick. People leaving should have cleared the air instead and exploded in a fog.

Brick didn’t care but he asked, “long night with your boyfriend?” He undid his bun, hair falling like a wave and sticky to his sweaty shoulders. He slaps his cap on.

Buttercup gripped the Swiffer handle. “I. No. I don’t have a boyfriend.” He didn’t need to know that; she didn’t care if he did. She had said it awfully fast. She didn’t care but didn’t want him assuming another, or being wrong about something so stupid.

“Girlfriend?”

“Going to say, hot?”

“So yes?”

“No.” She had no reason to clarify. Lying and saying yes felt easier than the truth. Bubbles didn’t mention what her and Boomer talked about. Brick never mentioned either of his brothers and Butch just didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing. Did they talk? She didn’t ask, best he didn’t have any reason to suspect. 

Brick didn’t say anything else, only, “See you tonight.” 

She smiled, good, relieved he was coming back despite what he seen. Brick smiled at her, “red suits you, Buttercup.”

Four words and her body turned the color he demanded. Did that just happen?

Buttercup didn’t get any of her catnaps in. After her Yoga class that evening, the hour to herself had been stolen by a text from Butch. He asked if she could come early.’ _Can u cm erly?’_ It was awful to read. More awful to see him, he looked equally as shitty and tired as she did. Two tables covered in fabrics.

“Butch?”

She’d been sitting on the couch for ten minutes after she came in. He’d been staring at the fabric with a distant look.

“You okay?”

“This is stupid.” He held up a panty.

“That’s…Cute.” Did you use cute to describe lingerie? Cute was a word reserved for animals and Bubbles, at least as defined in Buttercup’s dictionary. The world was insulting in Butch’s. He dropped the fabric with a groan. Cute. How could she call it cute?

“I didn’t mean cute.”

“Fuck off, Buttercunt.” He didn’t need her to make her feel better.

“No, I’m serious. I just. Look.” She had watched Project Runway with her sisters. She had seen What’s Next, or something, another fashion show Blossom was obsessed with on Netflix. 

“Who is your girl?” Her question was met with silence. She wasn’t expecting an answer but certainly not silence. Tim Gunn always encouraged the designs to have ‘their girl’ in mind. They needed to know her inside and out, Buttercup hadn’t even considered that maybe the ‘in’ also accounted for what she wore under that designer dress. Butch narrowed his eyes. 

Anger was a default. He didn’t understand? Anger. Annoyed? Anger. Frustrated because lace was so thin and kept rolling on itself under the needle and he didn’t have time to hand sew another fucking set to only hate it—Anger. 

Buttercup was still clothed, it felt weird to be in jeans with him, strange as that sounded. Her hips bumped the table and he clicked his tongue at her, as if that had really done any damage, that the centimeter it moved had thrown everything off kilter. “Who are you designing for, Butch? What girl are we capturing in the pictures, hm?” Thirteen photos was a lot. She hadn’t thought to asked to see what the project detailed and only just realized he had a crumpled paper pinned up at this station. Buttercup kicked his rolling chair away and leaned in closer to read the criteria. There weren’t a lot of details. It was an open content to welcome all sorts of different designs, to really let in new mediums. It didn’t even say it had to be lingerie; it just didn’t exclude it.

“They want a story. Two designs, thirteen pictures.” Buttercup had tried on over thirty different sets, it couldn’t all be for the contest. But it felt like Butch couldn’t pinpoint was meant to be contest material.

“Who’s your girl?”

Who was his girl? Butch did not have a girl, he hadn’t until a week ago. He just liked designing things. Maybe he was pervert for liking to design lingerie. He had gone with that angle, the only excuse as he delved deeper and deeper: Going to classes, buying fabric, porno magazines. He just wanted to create. He was created. It was only fitting he produced something the same. Fucking poetic really.

Sewing had been nothing but an expensive hobby until this contest came along. His chance to be someone other than Butch. Rowdyruff. Monster. Demon. Criminal. Bastard. No one would work with him. He had all but given up when she knocked on his door. He had but been damned when he took that photo of her on his bed. 

Butch he set the contest runners ablaze if that photo didn’t win. Didn’t they understand? Her body was valleys, mountain peaks, lakes, oceans and awe inspiring. The fabric highlighted everything, a bow on a package any person would kill to unwrap. 

“I don’t have a damn girl.” He had a photo. He needed twelve more and none felt qualified enough.

“Let’s make it.” Buttercups words were ironic and warranted a slow lazy smirk. He shrugged,

“you going to start pulling your weight around here?” She kicked his leg, sending him and the chair halfway across the room. He forgot about the money, he didn’t know about the rent. Butch wasn’t in the business of being personal. Creating intimates were as close to people as he’d ever gotten, even then it was limited. 

“It’s pointless, Butters. The moment they see my fucking name,” he mimed an explosion with his fingers. The moment he put in Butch and Badass as his last name often disqualified him from most things. The brothers discussed what they could use for a last name, oddly they wanted to agree on something. They never agreed on anything! Unfortunately it had been ‘Badass’ because they had been twelve at the time of agreement. 

“Butch,” Buttercup sat on his table. She pushed her hair behind her ears, it fell right back in front of her face, “I’m going to kick your ass. The deadline is,” a look at the paper had her groaning. Twelve hours. “Okay.” They hadn’t slept. She hadn’t eaten and doubted neither had he.

“Let’s order food. You can explain to me why all of these are bad.”

Butch looked like he had been suckerpunched, his lips curled and snarled. “These are fucking amazing! You saw!”

“Yes!” She clapped, “So why haven’t we taken anymore photos asshole?” He jumped to his feet, his hand gripped the back of his neck and there was that strange ticking metal sound. He had been goaded, of course he had. He was the easiest to rile up into a fight when Buttercup was involved. He practiced indifference, he and Brick both. Oh but it wasn’t a competition, you had to be apathetic about that as well to really win.

“None are good…Enough.” Words were difficult. He paced. He kicked the chair. Kicking and fighting, maiming and destroying were easier than this bullshit. He was created to destroy. What the hell had he been thinking? Poetic injustice was more like it.

“I’m ordering Thai.” She grabbed his phone, “password.”

“Sixty-nine, sixty-nine.” Buttercup had already typed it in before he begun to tell her. Irritation gave way to practicality. He had no reason to tell her his phone lock, but he had food apps installed with his card already logged in. It was just duty to pay and he didn’t want to add a single extra thought of rattling off numbers to her. She could order whatever. He wasn’t eating.

Buttercup noticed there was a transaction for everyday except today. One of his favorites starred, a Thai restaurant. Buttercup added it to the cart his last order and chose her own favorite. She’d pay him back later. It was late, the wait thankfully wouldn’t be long. 

Butch swore and stopped off, he disappeared into door across from the bathroom she hadn’t used before. Above her a cacophony of noise clattered. Grunts and yells were hardly muffled, though the sounds of the streets had never permeated the walls. The Butch she knew was upstairs. Would a fight do him good? Buttercup cracked her knuckles, then saw the time. She could beat his ass later. He’d be even angrier if they didn’t get this ball rolling. While a mess in one room was created, Buttercup cleaned the one in the studio. She used the couch to pile fabric trying to keep unfinished pieces together with their proper colors. On his worktable she laid out what he already had, some still had pins in them from the poor fittings the first night. They had been so large and instantly slipped off her body. Others had proper form and fitting, since she had begun to be his model.

Who did he use before? Buttercup held the fabric against her, the shoulder span twice her size. OH. 

Well that wasn’t a bad thought at all. Equal rights or something. Or she enjoyed it thought of it, not Butch specially but any person in lingerie. Man or woman. She didn’t want it to be who’s your girl, who is your girl and guy? None of the drawings had any drawings for the male form, he was a boobs guy. Buttercup got it, breasts were nice. She wasn’t biased, only bi. What looked good on her could suit a male form as well. They had mirrors. They could make it work. Tell a story about a couple, isn’t that what people wore lingerie for? Themselves? Sometimes someone else?

The unphasable Brick had even stopped to stare. He was always silent but Buttercup wondered if he had been at a loss for words. Buttercup stepped away from the thought, her heart picking up. Right, she was just embarrassed she walked off with Butch’s product. She dug it out of her bag and dropped it in the laundry basket he kept at the other table. The sketchbook she’d been in still laid out, her favorite robe still out.

Curious and left alone, Buttercup searched his closets. There were bolts, rolls, and tubs of fabric. He bought frivolously. Was it the fabric that inspired or did he buy after a thought came to mind? Either way, she was glad for it. Neon green sheer fabric, she almost grabbed black, but wanted to be loud with a matching fur trim. Buttercup took them both to the table. She thumbed through another sketch book stopping once when glass shattered above her and a loud fuck thundered. 

Leave him. 

It was a wonder he didn’t scare away their delivery man, thankfully he tapered off as he arrived and returned as Buttercup had the food laid out for the two of them on the carpet next to the bed. She wasn’t eating in the sex bed and every other sitable surface and table was covered in fabric, thanks to her. All of Butch’s projects moved to chairs and she found two more designs that she pulled fabric for. 

“What the fuck?” Butch was wearing gym shorts and a tank top. His hair was wet and skin dewy from the shower. Red scratches lined his arms, still healing, not deep enough for any concern. 

“Sit your ass down. I’m hungry as fuck.” Butch looked around with a snarl. He crossed his arms and stood above her.

“Go home. I’m going to bed.” She should have been gone already.

“Food. Don’t be a pussy.” Buttercup stole from the Styrofoam container nearest to Butch. “Pad thai? You’re so fucking basic.” She coughed, spicy though.

“You didn’t squeeze the lime, bitch.” He dropped noisily in front of her. With a single grip juice poured from his hand onto the food. The lime bled dry. Butch shook his head and mixed up his noodles, lime, and peanuts. He knocked Buttercup’s spoon back with his chopsticks. 

“Dude. Let me try.” He knocked her away again, she had just been bitching. She didn’t deserve to try the food in its final form.

“You can have some of mine, open.” Buttercup turned her spoon towards him. He stared with disinterest.

“Try it. PYID.”

Buttercup howled in a laugh, she hadn’t even explained! Did he know? He took a bite immediately, left it on his tongue, then nodded. 

“Not a pussy,” he murmured against the threat and held a bite on his chopsticks, Buttercup leaned up for the offer. “So what’s going on here? The fuck have you been doing down here.” It was a question but the harsh tone fell flat, he sounded more accusatory and Buttercup had to put herself in check. He wanted a fight. He was in a bad mood, she could ask him what he had been doing upstairs and it could come to a full visually representation with his fists.

Buttercup practiced honesty, “I have an idea.” Butch didn’t stop eating. He didn’t ask her to explain. The lack of response wasn’t a no either, he just wasn’t committing to excitement or disappointment. “I want a robe. Like a fucking big ass queen I rule the world robe. Like that one in your drawing.”

This had his attention. His chopsticks stopped swirling the already stirred food and his eyes cut toward her. He had to know she had been looking through his notebooks, it’s where she had left him her number. This was something more. Buttercup had remembered one of his designs. She voiced what he wanted the wearer to feel. He’d been right, but hadn’t put the effort into making it.

“And you want it green?” It explained the hideous fabric.

Buttercup motioned to her eyes, come on pal. Keep up buddy. Asshole, because he knew there was a swear in there somewhere. 

“Green. And I want you to make something for yourself.” 

Butch choked on his noodles.

“P.”

“Don’t.” He pointed the utensil at her,

“Y.”

“You can’t just say that and think I’ll do whatever the fuck you want.”

“I.” Her voice hit a sing song note, high and carried. Buttercup slowly took her curried tofu into her mouth, rice stuck to her lip in a grin. Butch shook his head,

“D.” Pussy if you don’t. She waggled her eyebrows. “Just cover your dick. Deal? I answered the question. Who’s your girl.”

They both used their utensils at their mouths to hide the reaction, the air in the room odd and undefined. “A girl and a guy,” Buttercup murmured. “They dress up for each other. She wants to be his queen and he isn’t afraid to be throned.” 

Not one for words Butch could not definitely say that throned was not an actual word. The feeling it of however, reached him.

“You want me to make something for me?” He wanted to suggest they call Mitch but he didn’t want to suggest that anymore than Buttercup thought to consider it. He didn’t dwell on why, all power routed to a design. To all probability if he could make something that quickly.

“I had an idea? I mean. Butch, this is your thing. I just.”

“What is it?” Buttercup didn’t walk or run, she flew to the table with the sketch book and sat beside him, her plate of food abandoned. Butch kept eating, he needed to do something. Buttercup showed him a design where there was no bra only a basic thong and a lacey shrug.

“I get the robe. You wear this and,” she flipped to a page she had dog eared, her fingers tried smoothing it out, he smacked her wrist. She was in the way. He was trying to look. A high waisted v-cut panty. 

“Both of us wear that.”

Silence. Stillness. He stopped eating. A picture form in his minds eye. He had a few things—Oh god. He had more than a few things that would make her into a queen. Would she wear them? He could see it. Twelve pictures for one story, for these designs that could be worn by man or woman. The other design, the one photo that was a done deal. That was his winning option. This was his own competition. 

“I don’t want you wear a bra either.”

“I’m sorry?” Buttercup sputtered.

“Not like that.” Butch met her eyes. Green as his. Was she wearing mascara? Did she always? Her eyelashes were thick, he wanted more. He hoped she carried it on her, maybe in her car. “If I’m not wearing a top, just the shrug, I want you to balance it. We wear matching bottoms. Different shrugs. I.” he stopped and gestured to her, “you can tape it so it will stay aligned your chest, covering your actual breast.” 

Had Butch always been thoughtful? He was an asshole criminal but Buttercup considered he might be a benevolent designer. She quickly let go of the idea when he put her to work first cutting out fabric, then hand stitching the fur to the entire trim of the robe only saying “Don’t bleed on it.” Dickhead. Every time she pricked her hand, Buttercup stuck her finger in her mouth.

Mindful of the time, Butch sewed on the machine as much as he could. He showed Buttercup how to detail the edges of the panties with the appliques he had cut off a different panty set. Three hours left he disappeared upstairs, this time without a storm of noise following him. She left briefly to run to the twenty-four-hour drug store, he gave her cash she couldn’t refuse to buy makeup. When she returned, the studio was bright with umbrella lights set up by the windows and bed. Butch rounded on her as if he hadn’t asked her for the makeup, like she had been slacking off. 

“Sit the fuck down,” Buttercup pointed the mascara wand at him. She floated for the best angle, told him to blink as she brushed his eyelashes. The lined his lips in gloss. Buttercup did the same for herself. When it was time to dress, he again offered the bathroom to her, she took one side of the shade and he the other.

“Butch.”

“What, it’s two fucking pieces. What.”

“The tape.”

“Seriously?” He groaned. He didn’t need to ask, tape did what tape did best, roll on itself, stick to hair, fur, and dust. Double sided tape was even more notorious, even with the plastic layer to help. “Can I come around?” What was there to hide? He was asking, is it okay for me to see. Buttercup didn’t know why he did ask. He had pretty much already seen everything, only this time it would be without a veil or decorative lace that highlighted her pert nipple. His fingers had already been on her, carefully pinning and adjusting that last to get its placement perfect in every design he did after.

“Dude. Come on. Hurry up.” Making her answer was even worse. She stared at the ceiling, glancing only once at his face. What did he think of her? It didn’t matter. A Client? Well he was a piss poor employer who didn’t actually pay her. He was impossible to read, eyes on her chest, on her fingers clutching the roll of tape. 

“Move.” Buttercup hesitated. Butch repeated himself. The space heater had been keeping her warm, you would expect the heat of her blush to keep her content. When the curtain fell and her breasts exposed, Buttercup felt cold, the thin layer of fabric a shield she never knew. This is what it was to lose lingerie in front of a partner. A curtain reveal. See me. She held a breath. Butch inspected the size, tore off the proper length. 

Buttercup bit her lip, his finger trailed between skin and fabric. Her brushed over her nipple, light as a ghost. 

“Don’t ruin your makeup,” He murmured. Buttercup hadn’t seen him look away, how did he know? He eyes were on her, his work! He cautioned her again as he taped the second piece to her chest. Buttercup could hear the clock ticking, her ears ringing, and her heart racing. Running! She needed to sit but what if the shift moved the tape, if she popped free? Every inch if her tensed. Her jaw locked, Buttercup looked ready for a fight, not a photoshoot.

“One more thing.” Butch motioned for her to follow. He walked effortlessly in practically nothing! He was the one embarrassed to make lingerie for himself and he walked like it was in his damn boxers! His ass was out there! Round and hard, a single strip of fabric hiding his crack! Buttercup didn’t know if she should cover her chest or ass. If his ass was hanging out, so was hers. She already had one person get an eyeful today, she didn’t want a two-fer. 

“A queen,” Butch put rings one by one onto her fingers, “shows her riches.” He clasped a gold necklace with a long thick rectangle around her neck, it fell right between her breasts, a guide saying look here! 

“What about you?”

He wiggled his already silver clad fingers and pointed at his eyebrow piercings, the ones in his lips were gone, not even a scar left, but there were four on his pelvis. Buttercup starred. He pointed at the bars in his nipples. She looked away but didn’t miss his smirk. 

Two hours left.

Butch took several of Buttercup by herself. Looking out the window, in the bathroom, on the bed splayed out, in front of the mirror. Shots from behind and a low upward angles. He adjusted a setting, his sigh the only indication it was time for the story the introduced a new player. Buttercup was still again. He had only just gotten her to loosen up, his presence was like ice when she needed a fire.

“Butterbitch.” He warned. Buttercup opened a mouth for an insult but stopped. She almost called him a dick. Knowing his dick was right there, visible through peaks of fabric if she dare glance it, she couldn’t say it. 

“Who’s my girl?” Butch’s smile was wolflike, his eyes narrowed at how quickly Buttercup had snapped her head to face him. Oh he meant— his smile grew devilish. His hand touched her back. A muscle in his wrist moved, his thumb pressed a button and the studio light up, the camera clicked. 

“I’m going to put this on a timer. Every time a click it, I drop the button, we have three seconds to be in our pose.” Meaning wherever he put them, she wasn’t allowed to move. Only his hand. They practiced with simple poses. Nothing was a winner. The story was about a guy and girl, two pieces of a whole together again. A queen who’s demands were finally being met, her heart returned. Or so Buttercup had imagined. 

The expanse of his hand covered the small of her back, Buttercup looked up at him, eyes wide in wonder. He pulled her closer, their bodies were flush. Click. Drop. Picture. Neither of them moved. He needed to grab the remote again, but Buttercup was right against him. Not just against his pelvis, his dick had two very thin barriers separating him from her. Every breath in, their stomachs touched. Her eyes were heavy. Butch found the heat to melt the stiffness in her body.  
One step away her eyes were open again. Butch pulled them into the same position, he pressed against her, closer. Buttercup’s head tilted upward, he snapped the picture, catching the moment she melted. This time he didn’t drop the remote, took two more before letting it fall from his palm. He then crouched to pick it up, his hands rubbed her thighs,

“Look at the camera.” He instructed, Buttercup did as she was told, her hands fumbled. He was breathing. Breathing on her. He was right in front of her vagina. All of her was hot, too close! Too exposed. Buttercup grabbed his head, fingers threaded in his hiar, she meant for it to be threatening. He snapped a photograph. He took another starting to look over his shoulder but stopping just as his profile.

“Do you trust me?” He whispered, his breath against her thighs. Buttercup didn’t reply. This wasn’t a moment to be trusted, her mind was mush and she wasn’t thinking straight, everything was too hot. 

“Do you want to win?” That was a word that didn’t require thinking. 

“Yes,” she didn’t mean to gasp it. It fell from her lips quick and breathless. Butch clicked his remote, dropped it, and threaded his fingers in her panty and kissed under her bellybutton. Buttercup tossed her head back. His grin could be felt stretching against her skin. When he stood, the grin was gone. Butch stared down at her. 

“We’re going to win this.”

“Yes.” Buttercup agreed. They were on top of the world, who could possibly pass up this story? Butch guided her to the bed. He knelt on the floor in front of her. Butch kept his remote hand low and out of sight, he could play this one fisted. 

“Deep breath,” he murmured between her legs and pressed his nose to the thin bed of fabric at her entrance. The sensible Buttercup knew it was a breach labor laws. But the camera caught something else: want. She knew when he moved to adjust the cameras angles, she felt cold again.

He held the camera in his hand and snapped photos himself. The plastic was frigid against her skin, he balanced the bottom her thigh, her stomach. She said nothing and stared at him through the lens, she watched him slowly lower the camera and return her gaze.

Buttercup held out her hand to him. Foolishly he gave her the camera. Not what she wanted but she took photos of the man above her. She zoomed in on his eyes, zoomed out and noticed the stretch of lace over his crotch. Buttercup held the camera to him. She then hooked her fingers between robe and skin and slowly pried the tape from her breasts. Butch clicked, clicked, and clicked the shutter. 

He waved a hand over the soft skin and swept away the robe from only one breast, he lowered himself and put the camera to one side. He blindly took photos. Butch didn’t stop to check them. In fact he let his hand leave the camera and swept the fabric away from her other breast to leave Buttercup completely exposed. Cold didn’t take her this time, only more warmth. A want washing over her. A want given with a wet enclosure. 

“Mm,” Buttercup hugged his head to her breast and lifted her body into his. He’d been straddling her low. Her lift high enough to bump his erection against the front of her labia. She laid back down. Salvia trailed from her nipple to Butch’s mouth. He glanced down at the space between them. He looked back at Buttercup. 

Butch dropped his hips and rolled himself forward, “Oh.” Buttercup said quickly and covered her mouth. Butch did it again, driving himself closer and harder. Her hand covered her mouth but Buttercup moved it as if he kept missing the mark. Butch wish she would. He liked hearing Buttercup breathless like this. It was different than all their fights, different that a punch to the gut, though the excitement coiled the same tightness inside of him. 

“Look at me,” he demanded. Buttercup opened her eyes, she closed them again, as he drilled against her, saved only by the fabric.

“Buttercup,” Butch whispered against her ear. Why did her name sound like it was so much more? Spoken like a secret, whispered as want. “You’re wet.”

She mewled and tightened her palm over her mouth. Butch shook his head. She knew this look. Blood lust. His eyes glowed green and bright, his hands shook. He was unstoppable when it took over. It was like looking into a mirror. They could smell a fight and jumped into it headfirst. The greens were animalistic. Act first. Think later. Instinct. Instinct. Instinct. 

What was more primal than fucking?

Butch wrapped his hands around her wrists and pealed them away from her face, he pinned them above her head. Buttercup had the strength to stop him, she lacked only the will. His fingers tightened and he drove his hips forward again. Buttercup rocked under him, her mouth falling open. 

“Butch,” Buttercup gasped when his hisp fell away, a punch half delivered, she wasn’t breathless enough. He moved forward again and Buttercup moaned under him, her body rolled down to meet his. He shuddered, thrill iced his veins but a heat quickly melted them in a rush toward his groin. 

“Yeah?” He laid on top of her, hands on either side of her head. Buttercups arms wrapped around his neck, fingers brushing over for little studs on the back of his neck. The source of the metal clinking from his rings, four little buttons that had him grunting and grinding against her.  
Buttercup couldn’t keep up, her heart for once out running her. Her thoughts ages behind her. What did she want? The only answer knocked against her in hungry bumps. 

Her legs spread a little wider, “Oh god, girl. Don’t.” Butch laughed into her neck, “don’t do this to me.” His hips didn’t stop moving and his mouth had found her pulse point. A hand rubbed down between their bodies and towards her panty, his fingers twisted and stretched the fabric. He tugged. 

Buttercup rolled towards him the wave a chance to lower the fabric. He panted against her. He wanted to tell her to stop him, but the wolf was out of its sheep clothing and he had tasted blood. He was going to tear her apart, she’d bleat his name and cry for more. Buttercup gasped, his name on her lips. The head of his cock pressed against her, he didn’t pull back and let her feel it. A constant pressure against the hood of her clit.

Her mouth dropped, “Oh. OH.” She moved all on her on, writhing under him begging to be touched. Had anyone? A pretty little powerpuff like her could have her pick of the crop. But what time did she have, he wondered? He never asked if she was seeing anyone, the Bitch? Didn’t matter. He was criminal and would steal what he wanted, if he wanted it enough.

“Work it BC.” He swiveled his hips, his head felt the dampness of panty soak. “I got you.” His finger skirted down and just over her Brazilian. Buttercup shuddered, all of her was slick and a mess. Butch hooked his finger against her clit. She brought herself towards him for more pressure,

“Yes, please, oh!” Her words a prayer and he a god he was bound by obligation. His finger pulled out and came up between her legs, they parted wider. He could do more than a fucking finger, he wickedly considered and weaseled passed the fabric and into Buttercup’s wet heat. His eyes fell closed and his breath stolen. They gasped together, she pushed down and drove his finger inside her.

Rules and formalities never applied to the greens. They did wanted. They wanted without regard to repercussion. He smelled want, he felt desire and the feeling was mutual. A shrill ring however, disagreed with their progress. 

A thirty-minute warning.

“Wha—” Buttercup panted and brushed hair away from her sweat covered face. “What’s that?”

“Final countdown.” Butch seethed, his finger still in her, her chest still rising and falling, he couldn’t ignore it. He could fuck Buttercup in this moment before their senses came to them. 

Buttercup touched his chest, her hands slowly rubbed his pecks. “H-h-ow quickly can you edit photos?” Butch snarled, what the fuck was she talking about? They had more important things, he pumped his finger in and out of her, proving a point, prodding a moan from velvet lips.

“Bbutch,” She all but blubbered, her knees drew tight together. “You worked so hard. C’mon on.” She grabbed his wrist, it was the hardest fight he’d backed down from. “Go wash your hands, go take care of this.” She grabbed his cock because this was Buttercup. Butch yelped and grinned with a shot of adrenaline. He tried caging her in, but Buttercup cut off the niceties and punched him in the gut. “Hurry up asshole!”

A flash of green fluttered the sheets, her robe, and fabrics in the room. Butch didn’t even bother closing the bathroom door. He thanked every god he hadn’t. As he choked his cock, he heard Buttercup back on the bed. She didn’t need to be loud for his super hearing to pick up. He gave her a gift, grunting as he jerked one out. He came hard, she came breathlessly. 

Losing a load, he returned calm as he was before. Buttercup lay on the bed, one hand over her crotch the other hiding her face from the afternoon light peaking in through the curtains he tried to hide. He spared only one minute from work to do as he had the other nights. He dropped a blanket lightly and carefully over Buttercup’s body. He wondered if she’d stay asleep if he pulled off her panties, waking up wet was disgusting but waking up clothed when mostly naked in someone’s bed was more of a relief than anything. He took only his camera and put his super speed to work in a way he never before had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have plans for more! I’m shameless. Everyone should want Buttercup so everyone does want Buttercup lololol. Yolo. Also I found some 500 dollar lingerie while I was gathering references for this fic lol.
> 
> Seriously please comment, like, AND SUBSCRIBE! I am hoping to add more to this. I just want sexy, fun, shenanigans and drama.
> 
> PS I don’t have a beta or patience to properly edit myself.  
>   
>   
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> Also I'm on tumblr: [Diedieri](https://diedieri.tumblr.com/)  
> On pillowfort: [Manas-Moment](https://www.pillowfort.social/Manas-Moment)  
> On Twitter: [ManasMoment](https://twitter.com/ManasMoment)  
> That twitter is hella new and a side account but I wanted to have a writing one where I can scream freely about writing woes lol
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments/tags/reblogs there as well!


	2. Pinup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This was his plea._
> 
> _She could be villain or hero. Take revenge and remind him what it was to do the exact opposite of what someone wanted. This was a scale, she might control which way to tip it, but it would be her own judgement.  
> _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay yo, life has been fucking nuts…  
> Enjoy! Please comment and let me know what you think!  
>   
>   
>   
> 

__

_Lie in Lime_

_Chapter Two:  
Pin Up  
_

Rent paid? Check.

If the day ended here, Buttercup would mark it for success. Spending money was a pain: in her wallet, heart, and head, but paying a debt felt satisfying and good. The greater the deed, the bigger the reward. Paying bills was the most productive thing a person could do without doing jack shit, also the most exhausting. All your hard work equated to dimes and dollars, gone. Buttercup needed a rest; her mornings didn’t have time for that. First, pay rent. Second, gym time, then train other people at the gym. Grocery shopping and rest before yoga. It was busier than it sounded, the drive from apartment to gym nearly an hour! There was always a plus side. The uptown gym by the grocery store, had the best sales. In a ritzy neighborhood they moved food fast. If something expired in five days, they already had the product on a rack in the back or to the bottom of the coolers all with bright orange tags on the bottom shelves. 

Buttercup burned calories like bus drivers burned gas. Constant. A lot. Required. It was the hardest part of her budget. What should she eat versus what she could? Often “could” remained defined by her wallet. This grocery store happened to have an ‘ugly’ section. The fruits and vegetables that didn’t suit the eye but were perfectly fine. How people walked right past it to the overpriced baskets were beyond her, it’s the same people! Buttercup screamed it in alignment with her creed but quietly in regard to her wallet. Can’t have every Karen figuring out an orange tomato with red spots wasn’t bad, just not picture perfect. 

“Hey buddy,” She spoke to the broccoli. Crazy or preemptive, only kids from her generation took that precaution, in fear one day they would have green overlords. Most of them had finally taken too cutting the vitaminous vegetable off at the knees and eating them plenty for lunch and dinner. She checked her list. Vegetables up to five dollars. Lentils, rice, the eggs she’d buy with Blossom on Sunday at the farmers market. Bread flour, yes, she made her own bread. Sweet and russet potatoes. A package of curry since she was out, different cans and bags of beans. All meals she could put in a crockpot and be done. She lived the crockpot life. Buttercup ate straight from the bowl and dumped the rest into one container for lunch and another for a meal for later. Cans of tuna. Jelly and peanut butter. Peanut butter protein powder. Four packages of meat: two chicken breasts, two different cuts of beef, all tagged with that bright yellow reduced-price sticker. 

Late afternoon was busy enough for only two cash registers to be open. Buttercup checked her count as she pilled her goods onto the conveyer belt. Something was off. How much was the Protein powder at the grocer near her? Cheaper though never in stock. It’s fine, she got paid. She’d be fine, this was a splurge. It was alright to buy for the week rather than daily, save her time. Time was money. Wait how much was the—

“Buttercup?” She looked up, Brick had his cart neatly packed, arranged for how he would bag himself. A myriad of colors, a handful of sweets, and snacks. “Hi.” Before it would have been awkward to run into a Rowdyruff, a villain, or it could have been awkward to run into her students. 

“Hi,” She smiled. Anywhere else was less awkward. Buttercup stop counting and adding up the numbers in her phone. She picked up the pace, fuck strangers but a friend? Yes. A friend. You didn’t see someone nearly every night for a year and have conversations without considering them a friend, even if you didn’t say it. Without concern or plan she dropped the rest of the goods on the belt, produce touching meat. Cans near softly packaged items. Not her problem anymore, the beeps ring up behind her, it would be the bagger’s problem and future Buttercup’s ire.

“Brick,” Buttercup chided and picked up box of cheez-its.

“I know,” he smiled in the way you did when others were around and a joke wasn’t shared. “I’m going to have company this weekend. Trust me.” He lifted and dropped the bag of Doritos, “this shit isn’t all for me.” 

“You’re gonna crunch the big ones.” Was she one to talk? Brick lifted and dropped the bag again. He hung over on the bar of his shopping cart. 

“Are you having a party or something?” 

“That’ll be fifty-five seventy-eight, ma’am.” Brick didn’t get to answer, it wasn’t a relief to hear the price just a gift to not have to hear the answer. Whatever was she wasn’t invited, why would she be? Why was that even a thought? It would be a pity invite, fuck that!

Forty for gas. Thirty-five she already gave to the professor for her share of the phone bill. “Fifty-five?” Buttercup asked, the cashier corrected her. She thumbed through her wallet again, counting quick. She didn’t have to put forty in her car, but she was already coasting. That was fine. This was routine. She knew the miles for every week, though things had gotten recently thrown off. She was short on gas two days earlier than normal. 

“You know,” Buttercup smiled. It was plastered on her face for the cashier, he was an elder gentleman. He checked Buttercup out often and they talked sales and coupons. He didn’t mind her turtle pace as she added her cart up before putting it on the conveyor belt and made last minute decisions and handed him relinquished items before he scanned them to save him the trouble. She smiled because Brick was behind her and this needed to be normal.

“Al, I think I actually still have some protein powder.” 

“You bought it last week, if I remember.”

“You’re better than me,” How did he know? He didn’t. He was playing along an old man spotting a customer’s embarrassment and panic. He smiled and took the plastic jug out of the bag and off the screen. Her throat twisted and tightened. She never lost a battle with a monster, but against capitalism Buttercup was 0 and infinite. The price dropped to just under fifty. Her victory was a nickel in change. 

“See you tonight, Brick.”

“Tonight?” 

Her quick exit stolen, damn niceties. Buttercup carried all the bags on her forearms, packed in totebags she had brought from home to save on the paper bag fee. “Yeah, yoga? Are you not—”

“No I mean, yeah. But the zoo.” He had the conveyor belt loaded and stepped to the end of the cashier’s section to pack his own bag as he saw fit. The old man hadn’t even started, Brick was a regular too? Did he shop every day around this time? No. Buttercup would have certainly run into him before. 

“The zoo,” She repeated, the word rolled over her tongue. The Zoo. Zoo. Zoo. The zo—her eyes widened, “oh fuck. The zoo! You’re going too?” She was already supposed to be on her way, it was an hour out from here, damn near two hours from her place. Buttercup started one direction then stopped, “thanks Brick. You’re going?”

He happened to be holding the chips and dropped them noisily back to his bag with a crunch. 

“Why? Shit, not why.” She didn’t have time for small chat, she wasn’t good at it on a normal day, and certainly not when every second counted. 

“Work. But Boom found out, so he volunteered me to bring shit.” They didn’t talk about their siblings, Boomer and Bubbles were in touch, they said. Buttercup knew better than Blossom what in touch really meant. Bubbles came crying and panicking to her more than once, and even after class on Thursday to her and Brick both.  
They didn’t talk puff or ruff, Buttercup was certain that’s where the conversation was going to turn. Instead Brick blasted his brother—He doesn’t have a stable job, Butch and him are slackers. But at least Boomer did something with his time. He worked at animal shelters. He raced dogs and burned their energy low. Boomer became an unofficial spokesperson, started “negotiating” with companies and had them donating dog food. He reminded Bubbles that’s how they met, intentionally or not Buttercup hadn’t asked what his angle was for his brother. Boomer was a slacker but he wasn’t _bad._ Bubbles didn’t need to feel guilty. He said more than Buttercup on the matter with stronger authority. 

“Was I supposed to bring shit?” She asked, Brick didn’t say anything when it could be helped. He didn’t talk what he did not know. He swiped his card.

“No. Thanks. I’m going to be late. I have to be there in thirty minutes. So I have to go?” She took a step back, Buttercup had to be there early to help her set up. Would Blossom be mad if she flew across the city for this? Fuck the car, oh god, and she needed to stop for gas!

“I’ll take your groceries.” Brick shifted his bags to one arm. He walked the cart with one arm then offered it to Buttercup.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll bring them tonight to class.” He paused not one for repeating himself, he simply reminded her, “You’re going to be late.”

Brick had made her and her sister’s lives hell growing up. They were the first real super villains that rivaled them, made the girls strive to be better. She’d take this as penance, “Thanks Brick.” 

The third Ruff was absent from the event, Buttercup wasn’t surprised, she hadn’t been expecting him, and tried not to notice that she had noticed at all. Brick had his hair pulled back into a bun and wearing slacks and a button up top, a badge hung around his neck, press pass. She tried mot to notice this too, instead she claimed to was reasoning. Brick was blogger, restaurant critic, and area expert. He didn’t use his fists to topple businesses, now he could give you a negative review. Buttercup had unknowingly dodged a bullet, no one saw her shaking in her shoes when Blossom sent her the article. _‘Get Bent. Yoga that works for you’_ by ‘Bright McMillions’ he praised her class for its time and eagerly awaited for more attendants to appropriately divide out beginners and advanced. Four stars. When she found out who Bright was she asked Brick hadn’t she gotten a fifth star. Location. The building had lights out, one staircase was blocked with boxes it would hinder escape in a monster attack. Poor maintenance wasn’t her fault, he didn’t mention anything in that particular article.  
“You better be nice to my sister,” Buttercup punched his arm and wrinkled the fabric. 

“Of course. It was her assistant who was shit.” Brick scribbled something down in a notebook.

“You mean covered in shit, that fucking duck—”

“Ostrich.” 

“Shat on me on purpose. Bubbles squawked at it and laughed.” She gestured away and toward the a plastic knotted bag. What was one more outfit ruined? An outfit that had been a gift, brand name. Elgant three white strips following every curve to her ankles, high waisted, with just a sliver of skin showing under her hoodie croptop. Wasted.

Brick pointed out, “You were late.” Buttercup groaned. She was. As if that was grand cosmic karma, now she was a walking advert for the City of Townsville zoo as penance. Shorts, tank top, scrunchie, and flipflops. Bubbles said not to worry about their cost, they had stains, or some printing issue and the staff kept them back for just these sorts of occasions.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” He and Buttercup had both taken to the outskirts of the event. Boomer had a boa constrictor wrapped around his neck and Bubbles hissed lovingly at the snake’s head while she fed the man his sandwich, they were surrounded by a crowd. Buttercup shrugged. Food wasn’t all that appetizing after you almost took on a mouthful of crap. Dumb of her to turn down the free grub. 

“You?” She asked. “Or did you fill up on cheez-its already?”

His lip barely quirked up into a grin. “Yeah.”

“Buttercup, come hold Sandy!” The snake. “She remembers you!”

-x-x-x-

Everything was back to normal. No late-night phone calls or all-nighters. Buttercup dressed in only underwear and a holy ‘mitch-rocks’ shirt Mitch had given to her ages ago. She was in bed and asleep at midnight. Her phone was never on silent, vibrate only. She used to keep it silent all the time when Blossom was in high school. College changed things between the girls. Mostly when Blossom and Bubbles went to college. Buttercup tried. Tried again. With every ounce of will power she tried to do anything but hate it, each down it chipped away. A piece of her lost. Every second in a seat, a lie etched into her skin. High school hadn’t been like this. But she didn’t see the same future her sisters did. Slowly. Every day. More and more, Buttercup hated everything and told the gym she worked-out at if they didn’t think she was qualified teaching boxers without a degree they could suck on her nuts. She was hired. It was easier on the professor, Bubbles hadn’t gotten a full ride and his funds could now be used towards vacation and help put Bubbles through college. He was able to pay for the extra year when she changed her majors. Blossom had gone far away, Bubbles stuck near home. Her and Buttercup became the close sisters, Blossom left on the outer edge. They skyped all the time, Buttercup face timed Blossom more than Bubbles who needed physical attention. It was a change none of them anticipated.

Buttercup had known about Boomer the moment it happened. She answered every frantic call, every delighted cry with how their ‘NOT-a-date’ had gone. She became the go between, professor texted her to reach Blossom or Bubbles. Only later did she realize it was because she was the one not doing anything. Professor was proud, she was running her own classes! She was defending the city by herself! Amazing! Did you hear Bubbles was going abroad to help at an animal reserve? Did you know Blossom got an internship with the person who organizes the Grammys? None of his daughters were disappointments. But Buttercup stopped updating him less and less with what she did today, it was the same story. New face, so and so finally landed a right hook. I’m helping cover the Zumba class this week, no I don’t get paid, I just take free lessons. 

Mundane. Buttercup was the mundane one. 

The only one of the three to still slaughter monsters and she was third rate news. When there was nothing to report on, the news covered the latest monster attack. Insurance men still loved her, though they were getting less claims by the day. The Professor spent money to fly out and see Blossom, he was elated when she was moving near Townsville again. He bought Bubbles spa days and massages. Buttercup went home and cooked with him, leftovers were enough.

Her creator didn’t need to know when she couldn’t pay utilities or was late on rent. That some weeks she showered at the gym and did laundry in the sink. She was trusted to lock up, no one had to know she carried a bag of wet laundry in her back seat and hung it over the bar in her shower. No one had to know and everything was back to this. Back to normal. Her phone on vibrate hopeful Bubbles still needed her. It didn’t often ring. Her and Boomer were amazing. Some weekends she and Buttercup went shopping together and she would complain about the little things. Boomer loved to gamble, he was never going to learn his lesson because he was a lucky devil!

Cheating. He is fucking cheating is what he is doing, she didn’t say that. Her sister was happy and it wasn’t really illegal. The house would catch him one day and Boomer could handle himself. Her phone buzzed. Buttercup’s eyes glowed. Ready. She was always ready to fuck up a monster, but the chime never came. Bzzt-Bzzt.

Bzzt-bzzt.

Three texts?

“Oh Bubs,” Buttercup smiled. What was it now, did they have a fight?

_‘u awake’_

_‘call if u r’_

_‘Seriously. Can we talk?’_

Buttercup sat in the dark. This was not a thing. It had only been a week and a half since Butch talked to her. Their close call was a one-time thing in the heat of the moment. What was there to talk about? She made that clear when she snuck out of the studio apartment. He was asleep on the couch covered in pins and fabric. Buttercup took a picture of him on his camera, it was the only moment she spared before ducking out, underwear tucked into her jean pocket. She didn’t freak out in his parking lot. She drove home easily and quickly. Then she took the sky and past the woods and over the ocean nearing Monster Island.

Fight. FIGHT. She needed to plow her fists into somethings gut. WHAT had she been thinking?! They didn’t even know each other?! That fuck! That bastard! It felt good, she wanted it! She had needed it! HOW. How did he get inside her—god-he had! She wasn’t even being funny, they nearly—Buttercup shot lasers high into the sky and dash as hard she could; she chased the red beams end trails. Over and over, Buttercup missed her mark. She fell short every time and tried again running herself ragged and to the bone. 

Was it so bad? She pushed back her hair, so she wanted sex? She wanted fucking attention because no one else was giving it. She had texted Ace two months ago and only found out last week from Arturo he was still in the slammer. No wonder he hadn’t been sneaking around, laying in the shadows. They hadn’t hooked up ever but he always put the offer on the table. Sometimes, most times, she threatened to cut his cock off for the comment. But lately…Buttercup was _hungry._

Fights weren’t satisfying.   
Life was boring.   
She needed something to get her heart racing.

A single touch against her nether regions and Butch had her reeling. 

It didn’t matter. Nothing happened and Buttercup was better for it. Had she been expecting a longer gig with this modeling bit? Sure. But lesson learned, don’t fuck the boss.

Now he was texting. He wanted to talk.

_‘I was sleeping dick hole.’_

Buttercup answered on the second ring, “good you’re awake.” Had she been expecting any other response? The room was dark again with her phone against her ear. Buttercup rolled onto her side, head buried in her pillow.

“The hell Butch? It’s like one AM.”

“Yeah. I meant to call earlier.” Earlier not sooner? Buttercup tried not to notice the difference, Butch certainly didn’t. Brick was careful with his words, Boomer was thoughtless, Butch was somewhere in the middle. Mostly it was somewhere sharp and curved, meant to hook and maim. Nothing he did came without consequence. He was starting with her sleep.

“Come on.”

“What?” She snapped, he was having a one-sided conversation and failing to actually say any of it.

“What crawled up your ass?”

“You know what? Fuck you, Butch.”

“Don’t hang up,” she heard his plea away from her ear, thumb just over the red and white phone symbol. One click and she could go back to bed. One click and Butch wouldn’t put the effort into contacting her again. “How about I fly to you?” He offered, generous considering who he was. The benevolent employer, Buttercup reminded herself, the one who set up a shade and space heater just for her comfort. There was no way in hell however, she was inviting him to her place. He could call her a prude or priss, Buttercup could deal with the names. She couldn’t deal with the truth of her home being public knowledge.

“No. I’ll come over.”

“It’s really not,”

“I said I was coming.” She hung up. Buttercup changed her shirt playing it off as a sleep shirt, that it had nothing to do with Butch seeing her in it. The Ninja Turtles shirt fit just above her midriff, she hid it with a zip up hoodie. She yanked on black joggers and stuffed wallet and keys into her pockets. Buttercup took the sky; she floated back to the ground and started her car. Blossom had asked her to be mindful.

_Be mindful Buttercup, can’t you do that? These people go through enough._

These people with their eight hours of sleep, who slept soundly knowing whatever came knocking at the door, she was one phone call away; her flying should be a symbol of protection, why did it have to be damnation? _Because it’s me._ Red or Blue would have been promise. Green was the bad omen. Vicious. Violent. The radio did nothing to chase her thoughts away, she cranked it louder still. Who ever heard her, Buttercup hope they knew it was their own fault. Flying wasn’t loud. Above the town, their dreams would be realized, Buttercup didn’t exist. On the ground she could be recognized, her sisters still received smile and praise. Funny when they weren’t the ones sticking their necks out for the town. They were effectively average citizens. Buttercup cranked the radio and lowered every window. The chill bit into her skin but her bite was sharper.

The music echoed loudly in the garage. She parked over the line, slammed the door, and didn’t bother locking her car. She hoped someone broke in, dared someone to look at her car. 

Or they could have it, take the bitch! Oh Buttercup why are you flying, sorry sis. I was robbed! 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Butch opened the door, Buttercup hadn’t even knocked. Her hand in her air just where the door should have been shifted easily to turning up her middle finger. Hadn’t she said she was coming? “It’s been an hour.”

“Traffic.”

“Was there a fucking migration of Woodcocks?” Butch jerked his hand as if the bird had anything to do with genitalia. 

“What?” Buttercup dropped her chain and her eyebrows raised. Butch had a gift for being the perfect amount of irritating bullshit: assumptions, facts, and demands. “What do you want?”

He reached for her wrist and tugged her inside and to the couch. It wasn’t worth the effort to snap her wrist back, she reasoned it made sense for her to go in. The sooner she went along with the gimmick the sooner she could get to bed. Cutting out their staredown saved Buttercup an hour. She could get home in an hour and a half, that was at least three hours of sleep before work! 

The promise of sleep ebbed at the crankiness that came with fatigue, “What’s up?” She kicked his ankle. His silence wasn’t unusual but it was a tick against the clock. Butch held up an envelope. He dropped in on the coffee table and cupped his hands over his face. Buttercup cocked her head, 13Stories, the contest. 

“That’s a big fucking envelope.” The postage on it wouldn’t be worth sending a loser! She had expected the results to be posted online, a quick tweet ‘congrats, you win! Looks great. Nice tits.’ Maybe not the later but Butch would have told her that had been the case. “You haven’t opened it.” 

Butch didn’t say anything, Buttercup had not asked a question. His thumbs drummed his nose, his eyes on the parcel waiting for the first strike. Butch wasn’t the patient sort, he ran headfirst into a battle. Act first, think later. She didn’t think he was _thinking,_ he was weighing his odds. You couldn’t attack a paper that you wanted to read. The results were the real threat, he couldn’t fight that. He could torch the judges.

Was Butch being considerate? 

Or Butch was frozen with fear, trapped in a room alone. Buttercup picked up the parcel, she turned it over and back. His eyes followed her, like a dog eyeing a treat, trained not to move a beat until spoken to. Battles had no risk, there was winning and losing. Losing was death. He wouldn’t die from a papercut. This loss wasn’t physical and he’d only lost a mental battle in their primary days.

“Been staring at this all day?” She sat with him and blinked a quick eye ray to singe the edges. Butch flinched. “Asshole. I’m a hero. I have flawless fucking aim.” You had to been when citizens were in the clutches of a clawed and fanged foe. Buttercup up ended the contents, several papers fell out, two varying sizes.

“congratulations.” Butch swallowed, his ears rang and reddened. He missed everything Buttercup said, had she said anything? Congratulations. He’d done something. He had built and presented something of his own making. He’d talked himself out of the victory, choosing words to cut him off at the ankles had been easy. Worthless. Waste of space. Disconsolate. His brothers had gone through every word in the alphabet and Butch gave up looking them all up. Boiled down and served up he got the message: you’re shit. 

Brick picked up skills like other people picked up takeout. Boomer could talk his way into a block of cheese. His brothers, just as monstrous and filled with all the same makings, had made themselves into something. Brick brought people down if he wanted and Boomer stacked odds in his favors in any bet. They were bad to the bone but operated like everyone else. He had been the one rotting and festering. Consumption taking him. Terrorizing the girls wasn’t even fun, they’d gone off and moved on. Buttercup wasn’t around, she didn’t appear at any town affair, only there when Townsville was in peril. He thought about robbing a bank, putting all of the aquarium fishes into the ocean, but then his brothers would know about it. Know he had nothing else to do other than fuck with Buttercup.

He beat his head into a wall, for scientific purposes. How hard did he have to hit himself to knock himself out? He could never remember the results, but at some point he always accomplished it. 

Aimless and bored out of his mind, Butch found himself at an old safe house. House was a generous term, cave was more like it and literal. He’d been diving into more ‘science,’ how far could he swim before the ocean crushed the air out of him? How fast was he to rush back to the surface for air? The lack of oxygen killed a few braincells. He didn’t remember swimming or flying to the cave, but woke up in his old bed. The walls covered in graffiti and cracks, it immortalized the good and bad of living with two other Ruffs.

He found jewels, cash, and a camera. He didn’t need any of them. The first two were plentiful and the third had a giant don’t touch me flag on it; he called Brick a sissy for taking photos. 

The ocean had killed off a lot more of his brain than he knew. He blamed it for letting him power the camera on and pan through the old photos. No wonder Brick went into photojournalism. He refused to see it then, but what reason did Butch have to ignore it now? His brother was traveling, fucking blogging, and had his own column in several newspapers. He’d even managed to get a big “FUCK YOU, MCDONALDS.” Published, likely he threatened the editor if he didn’t and more likely it had been over something petty. The paper sold a record number of papers, according to Boomer. 

Butch left the cave. No find was left behind. He printed one photo that haunted him in the cave. He drained the battery staring at it, picking the picture apart. Who was it? Why didn’t Brick get the picture into focus? He could make out feathers, lace underwear and a shear skirt attached to an embellished bodice. The model wore a mask. Her body was bent back as if an arm were holding her up, stopping her from falling back into the lake. Her arms outstretched above her head and fingers curled and hooked as if something wicked coursed through her. 

There was nothing sexy about the picture. Grainy. Zoomed in. A fury of feathers covering too much of the frame. There was a lot of skin but it hadn’t been what drew his eye. The clothing, there was so little of the fabric but it said what the model couldn’t. He stared and stared. She was exposed and bear, but Butch felt a fight in her. The hug of the fabric, the maelstrom of lace. 

Opening the letter was like looking at that picture again for the first time. An unknown part of him being unmade, a thread pulled he hadn’t known was ever stitched in him.

“Butch. Butch,” His body rocked and came right back from years of stubborn resistance and an effort to be both rubber and glue. “Butch are you fucking listening?”

“No.” The truth wasn’t his strong suit and didn’t usually work well for him. But lying usually took effort he didn’t have the fucks to give. “What’s it say?”

“For fu—” Buttercup tossed her head back and groaned, she kicked her feet out, a confusing show of irritation and celebration. “You’re a finalist!” 

There had been rounds? He looked down. Congratulations—you didn’t actually win shit, surprising no one you bastard.

“Hey,” Buttercup bounced her shoulder against his twice, the second stretch she kept him pushed at a forward angle. “That’s incredible, right?” Buttercup waved the paper he refused to look at. “You get a plus one, they’re going to put up your pictures on display! They’ll announce the winner that night.” She rustled the papers,

“We just have to make sure the information is correct,” suddenly he had an interest again. Butch snatched the packet of papers and stuffed them back into the envelope. 

“Butch. C’mon. Dude.”

He sat on it.

“What’s your deal? You’re a finalist!”

“Do you want to go?”

“Dude. It’s your project. You’re going.”

“No,” He cut his eyes to her. Buttercup eased off his shoulder and folded her hands in her lap. This look wasn’t different than any other, though the moment felt tangible. She sat back and pointedly placed space between them. Remember it was late, remember it had been nearly two weeks since their near one-night stand. He twisted to face her, “plus one.” He pointed at himself, then her.

You don’t owe him shit.

“Sorry, I think this is all you.”

“You’re in the photos. You need to be there.” Wrong. She didn’t want people seeing her face damn near nude. What photos did he even submit? Wasn’t this some ‘little girls can’t see the first lady as a stripper’ bullshit or something? Buttercup stewed, it was a shitty thought and premise. If a kid wanted to look up to a hard working performer, good for them. 

“I’ll make a tux.” Just like that, Butch smiled. His eyebrows, cheek bones, and teeth were all sharp. The atmosphere didn’t stand a chance against him. The thought of Butch in a tux had them both snickering. He stood and gestured to his joggers and Buttercup’s. See. She got it. 

“I can make you a tux.”

“Have you made anything that didn’t involve lace or mesh?”

“Who do you take more for?” He grinned. Buttercup shrugged, answer noncommittal. She had never known Butch to be a stylist. He was a hoodie and what the fuck ever type. She could relate. She didn’t think he knew what a bra was other than ‘in the way.’ Was he saying it didn’t matter if he had never made a tux or of course he had never made a tux.

“Fine.” She waved her hand and dismissed her complaint, “make a tux.”

“I’ll need measurements.” Buttercup narrowed her eyes at his words. His hands retreated to his pockets, he was checking himself, he watched the situation and again Buttercup did not know if she didn’t know who she was talking to anymore or if she had been wrong about who Butch was to begin with. Need implied she had to do something for him, he wasn’t demanding it. He toed the edge of asking for it. Why not whip out the measuring tape? His stare answered her question. He glanced her up and down, a quick flick of the eyes. Easy to miss. Buttercup could lose her life on the easy to miss moments and prided herself for starting to catch them without her sister’s help. 

He asked because they nearly fucked. 

He asked because she was a Puff and this was a distinct no Ruff touch zone.

“You have my measurements, asshole.” 

“For your fucking knockers. You want to show up wearing the product? Cool. SWEET. I’ll make one. You can wear a bow-tie. Playboy bunny.” 

“You ever shut the fuck up?”

“You gonna get your bitch ass up? I want to sketch. You can tell me what you like best.”

The measurements went without concern, waiting on his sketch soon turned sleeping on his couch. She awoke with a blanket and alone in the studio, all the lights off. The light of the early morning was enough to guide her to the door.

Buttercup didn’t hear from him for another two weeks. The distance was less bothersome, less of an issue without sex hanging between him. 

‘i gave up its better 2 wear brands at these things neway go 2 gerogies n theyll give u the sme style as me’

Buttercup did not know Butch and he certainly did not know her. A dress wasn’t in the budget. Going to a gallery event in Parrish-Prefecture already pushed her beyond her comfort zone. It was time away from work. If word got out, there could be a heist! A monster attack? It took only one mistake to be a disappointment. Butch was asking a lot and he hadn’t even properly asked. 

Blossom might be a busy-body-know-it-all-in-your-face-my-way-or-highway person, but it took the pressure off everyone else. She texted her sisters with an itinerary Buttercup usually ignored until two minutes before. Budget, times, hotel everything was laid out and plain. She didn’t know anything about this gallery, only what she remembered from the cover letter. She was a fool to say yes, but it had been a whimsical moment. Buttercup was part of a possible win. Her being there felt like a fight for first. He hadn’t really won her over, he only distracted her when he offered to make something FOR her.

That was stupid. It was dumb. Even worse that she had driven to Georgie’s to see what this place was about. No one was beside her to lie to, she told her reflection instead, “it’s on the way to work. I’m bored. I’ll be able to say I did after I don’t.” In the lobby with a leather couch, even sitting in this place was out of her budget. Buttercup dropped Butch’s name and her tongue soured. Why weren’t these people cowering?! Instead they lit up like saying his name was a check delivered. 

“Oh Mrs—”

“No no. Just Buttercup.”

“Ah, well, yes then. _Buttercup._ ” The way he smiled at her name was like it was attached to Butch’s. What were they expecting? The couches inside the heart of the shop were velveteen and plush. Buttercup didn’t sit. She folded her arms over her chest and hoped every person noticed she was in a cropped hoodie, cut by her own hand. They laid out suit after suit. Style after style. “These will compliment his own nicely.” 

“Can I look?”

“Of course, please! We can,” they checked her arm for a bag. “We can carry the ones you choose to the dressing room.” Buttercup smiled. Plastic and pressed. Any newspaper Bubbles had forced her to sit for a photograph and give something other than scowl had a copy of this look. They were fools not to read it: open with caution. Hazardous material. This product contains chemicals.

“I can carry clothes myself.” They were either stupid and didn’t know her face, the two were not exclusive or they were stupid and already tipped handsomely, these were not exclusive either. The suits looked flattering but they were still a suit. Did he only suggest it because it was Buttercup?

Middle school and high school were fairly normal, aside from monster fighting. There were whispers behind her back, never to her face but always overheard. They called her names and made assumptions. At the time, Buttercup both defied and fell into them. She never wore makeup, barfed at anything with a frill, shudder at skintight clothing, and mocked most heels. Then things changed. Blossom left. Buttercup didn’t like college and Bubbles needed someone. They shopped. Buttercup played dress up! She looked damn good in short-short, heels, and a crop top. She grew obsessed with makeup, her eyes in mascara alone could fuck someone up. Her and Bubbles still had monthly mani-pedi nights, at home on the couch with vegan nachos to share.

The lingerie lifted her chest, not in support—not physically anyway. It had her checking herself in the mirror, wiggling her shoulders as she perused the isles. Butch had even, Buttercup forced a shudder and sidestepped that train of thought. One did stand out among the other but so did its price tag. Bubble’s told her sometimes it costs to feel good. Oh she knew! But thrift store clothes were fine, she didn’t mind the second hand. She would wear it into the ground anyway.

All the fabrics here were fresh, crisp, and soft to the touch. Butch could have made this. He had the fabric; he had the talent. Further and further away from her corner, past the bright brigade of bridal dresses, weaving way past the white bridal gowns. She found a shelf in the back. There was no particular theme to these dresses, they were out of place. Stashed back. Under the fluff of one dress the rack had a metal plaque, the writing curvy and fancy, “last chance.” The words were more threatening than offering.

In the middle of golds and blue, a lone black piece. “Oh,” Buttercup saved it from the clashing colors. The bodice plunged, the edges cut to mimic leaves. She had worn something like it before, though briefly. The hips were speckled in black rhinestones, one side cut high.

“Ma’am, I can get you set up in a room.” A soft voice offered. Buttercup hadn’t even heard her coming.

“OH no. I’m not.” She abandoned it back on the rack.

“Honey, your eyes were sparkling. You don’t have to buy. Why not give it a try? Poor thing has been sitting there for months! The girl could use a bit of a stretch.” The attendant ignored every sputter and protest, Buttercup tried even raising her hand. She was ignored. She didn’t even bother to ask for Buttercup’s name or if she was in the right store. The grey hair beauty led her to a dressing room, she explained, “now this beauty is tricky. There is silicone to help it stick but really, you’re going to need tape.”

“Tape?!” Buttercup echoed from inside the dressing room. 

“You don’t want an accidental spill.”

“Do you have pasties?”

Buttercup sniggered, “no grandma.” Her tongue got the better of her, “fuck. I didn’t. I’m sorry.” If there was one thing Buttercup was good at it was playing hopscotch to an apology. At least the s-word no longer pained her. The woman chuckled, 

“Glad we’re close. A dress like that will show your girls if it doesn’t fit. We have pasties but you go on down the road, they’re cheaper at Secrets.”

“I like you, Grandma.” Butter inched her way in the dress. She kept her eyes down afraid if she saw he reflection to soon she wouldn’t even bother zipping it up. The sleeves were practically nonexistent. There were little wrist cuffs made of the same trim, they slipped on like a glove, without with fingers. She didn’t feel ready to popout.

Buttercup watched the ground, her thigh peaking out of the slit as she turned to open the door.

“My word.”

Buttercup readied to close the door.

“No. No, no, no. I’m. Have you looked at yourself?”

“Not helping lady.” The woman took her by the hand and walked her to the show room where bridal parties would sit on couches as one girl walked on stage in front of them and a lit mirror. Buttercup was a party of one. But it was better that way. Her cheeks flushed, “oh.” Her voice was small and strange. It was like the first time she pulled one of Bubbles’ dresses. It was seeing herself without a filter, no pre-existing conditions. She was one. Bare. This was her and she liked the girl looking back at her.

“Are we saying?”

“Yes,” Buttercup blindly played into the hand. Damn Bubbles and Blossom! They watched that fucking show and Buttercup had gotten hooked. She sniffled. Thank every fuck she was alone, no one needed to witness this. “Tell anyone about this Grandma,” Buttercup laughed and swiped at her eyes.

“Honey,” The elder woman joined her on the platform and pinched and tugged at the fabric, “I think this is a perfect fit!” She did a double take, “in all my years. You could walk out with this.”

A question of ‘really’ fell into a hard, I doubt that. Reality was quick to whip around Buttercup when action was called. She had seen the triple zeros on the other suits. This dress was just as ornate, the lack of fabric from the plunging front or swooped back didn’t mean less expensive. They hadn’t even discussed budget, Buttercup foolishly took the last chance for granted.

“I can’t.” She looked away from the mirror and cut the fruit off from the string.

“Now wait a minute here, honey. Let’s see.” She checked the tag, clucked her tongue, and swiped her hand at Buttercup. “You can do it.”

“I really can’t.” The woman lifted an eyebrow. Her patience warred with Buttercup’s stubbornness. “How much?”

“It’s four hundred,” Buttercup flinch, “but I tell you what. No adjustments? That is a thorn right of my side and you’re freeing up space on my wrack. I’ll knock it down to three hundred.”

Buttercup looked into the mirror. That was a deal. How much did a piece like this cost full price? Three hundred was a steal. She had just gotten paid, if she picked up a few extra shifts at the bar? She had covered for a yoga class, had done a new class recently and had more clients at the gym. The universe had been setting her up.

A weakness or strength, she whispered to herself: you can do this. 

She twirled and looked at herself from over the shoulder. She could sell it to a consignment shop later. Sell it to Butch to scrap for parts! It didn’t have to be a total loss like a cheap dress from a chain store would be. For the first time she was attending a party not as Buttercup the crime fighter, but a model. Ironically joined by a criminal. 

“I don’t know,” Her words were shaken.

“You came in here to find a dress for a purpose. The moment you saw yourself in it, did you see yourself there?” Buttercup didn’t correct her, she had come in to try on a set of prescribed clothes, other than that she wasn’t wrong. The mirror was her in the galleria, breaking every prejudiced stamped on her forehead. “You’re worth it.”

Bubbles would love this old broad. “Can you even do that? Cut the price down a hundred? I. I won’t take hand outs and I won’t have you getting in trouble.”

“Hah! Well. I wish there were more people like you, honey. But I’m Georgie. So yes. I can take off that hundred.” 

In the car Buttercup noticed a black envelope poking out of the bag.

“ _Thank you for your hard work. -G_ ” There was a box of tape, glue, and pasties on top. Buttercup didn’t want the handout, but how often did a townie recognize her? Thank her? She didn’t work for their thanks. She kicked ass because she didn’t know how to do anything else, because someone needed to protect this town. 

“Even that bag” She muttered, it was pin stripped with ribbon handles. Too expensive for her place. If she couldn’t handle carrying the bag from her car to apartment, how could she stand to wear the dress? Who cares? A lot of people! Townies were naturally nosy. They didn’t deserve an explanation or her resignation to do otherwise. 

No one is going to know you borrowed your sister’s wallet. No one who didn’t know Buttercup or Bubbles. The octopus with a top hat was a dead giveaway. The case was stylized at least, leather with pink and purple stitching. Octi looked good Cat-Noir style. After buying a three-hundred dollar dress, Buttercup didn’t have it in her to purchase a twenty dollar phone-wallet case. She needed her ID and card. Briefly she considered slipping her ID in her underwear, but the thin thong fabric didn’t feel secure. And not the classy image she was going for, less points than Octi. Going anywhere without her phone was off the table. Already she was pushed her luck with the galleria. Parrish-Prefecture was two hours North of Townsville. Casually flying Buttercup could get to it in thirty minutes, under pressure she’d be back in town in fifteen. 

One life a minute…

I should tell Blos.

I should at least tell Bubs.

Then they’d ask questions. She wouldn’t lie so she wouldn’t say anything, they’d accuse her of being standoffish and she wasn’t. Modeling lingerie for a Rowdyruff just wasn’t on her list of things she’d like to advertise. She didn’t want to explain the three-hundred dollar dress when she wouldn’t even join them for a matinee three dollar movie. 

I can get back in ten minutes.

Townsville will be fine.

She wasn’t driving, Blossom would understand. Blossom or any other citizen would never know. Buttercup tucked her apartment key and tube of glue into the zipper pouch in her wallet, hooked her green heels on her fingers, and darted out of her bedroom window.

The dress was a flurry around her. Edges of the dress curled under the wind. Buttercup grinned. She looped and twisted her body in flight. She wasn’t just passing through clouds, she was one. Her laugh fell into darkness, heard only by the stars. She twirled atop a cloud and lifted herself up high into the air as if her chest was pulled by a string. The shift in momentum brought her dress forward around her legs, then whipped behind her in a wicked snap of fabric. Clouds dispersed and moved with her.

Buttercup played hopscotch and leaped towards the stars. She aimed for one. She dashed towards it. Barefoot she ran through the floating path towards wonderland. Faster and faster to reach the star! The word twinkled under her feet. The lights were different, the tall 360 restaurant no where to be seen. She had gone through the looking glass. The clouds billowed down and Buttercup followed them to the lights she could reach. No longer in darkness and star light, but shadows and yellowed street lights.   
Down. Down. Down.

Buttercup walked down the stairs of cloud, her dress flapped behind her and the wind whipped at her, _come back_ it whispered, carrying a message from the stars. She was so close! The wind missed her races, only she could keep up. Her shoes fell to the ground, right side up. Buttercup slid right in.

According to her GPS she wasn’t far. Fifteen-minute walk. Not a glamourous entrance, no doubt she would be the only guest walking up to the gallery. She could uber? A car stalled ahead on the left. An uber required money. Buttercup took a right. The car honked.

She whirled on the driver, the dress circled around her ankles and her heels scraped the pavement. 

Butch had taken his convertible. It was too cold for the top to be down but he’d done it anyway. He didn’t like cramped spaces for long lengths. Driving required too much thinking. If he had taken his motorcycle at least it would be been more natural. More tuned to his body. Instead he wanted to arrive in style. He wanted the valet to gawk at his car, the leather seats, under lights, and buffed paint. He’d been looking up as he drove, otherwise he wouldn’t have seen it. He wouldn’t have believed it if anyone else told him, and no one would believe him. Something was descending from the heavens. Butch didn’t think it was an angel, the snarling dress clawed and curled at her skin. Her hair a spikey mess. Every step down was taken with power, the world crushed beneath her feet. A scythe was all that was missing. He had never been more willing to meet death, until he got a better look.

Death stepped into lime green high heels as if she was Cinderella. Maybe she was and the countdown till midnight just started. Was he her waiting chariot? Closer and closer Cinderella approached her pumpkin. Her strut no different than walking on clouds, the world was meant to be beneath her. Worked for her. If a bump existed surely the Earth sucked it back up for her passing. Butch gripped the wheel. Her shadow grew as she crossed into the bath of his headlights. 

Buttercup?

He honked. Cinderella was gone, midnight struck and death was at his door. Her eyes glowed and her fist clenched. When she recognized him, her fist clenched tighter and the tilt of the world shifted, Buttercup put her weight on her right. Bunch slumped over his car door.

Damn! Rare to say it, but first to admit it, he had been wrong to put her in a fucking suit. Georgie said the girl found exactly what she wanted. Butch had pitched a fit. They had an IMAGE. He wanted her to match his! He thought he had been conned into buying a spaghetti strap clutch that would tie their looks together, a bullshit number to up the lost sale. He was wrong. The old bat had done him a solid.

Buttercup tossed her hands in the air and heard her lift into the air.

“C’mere. You going to fucking walk up to the valet? Here sir. Take the invisible jet!” Buttercup was in front of his car in an instant, the leg with the slit kicked high, Butch stood up in his seat frantic. “Not the car!”

The world had been at her mercy, now too was his car. Buttercup leaned over her thigh, smirk on her lips. Her hair windblown. The edges of her dress flipped up from the quick flight.

“Did you seriously fly?” He asked.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” She shot back.

“From there? To here?” Butch pointed then down at his thigh. His question had been asked first and wasn’t as obvious as this glasses on his face. His question was pertinent. They weren’t here as THE or THAT Buttercup and Butch, hero and criminal. They were model and photographer, muse and designer – generally speaking. Flying was bound to raise questions. She would draw eyes in unwanted ways.

Buttercup touched two fingers against the lenses. 

“Did you just try to poke my eyes out?”

“You don’t need glasses!” Buttercup stole the specs for herself. Plastic. Literal clear shit that did nothing but give him a look. “You’re a twat,” Butch caught the glasses flicked from her hand. Butterbabe, wrong again, any other occasion he’d take the opportunity to rub it in her face. Pride rooted itself deeply in a win, but it’s hold stronger on his truth. He didn’t want to be recognized. Glasses worked for Superman right? Even Batman didn’t know at first, Louis Lane didn’t even have a clue!

“Keep your tits below eyelevel, Butterbabe.” He kept the car in park. “You going to walk in like that?”

“What?” Buttercup raked her nails through her hair, patted the spikey edges down. What super wasn’t used to wind hair? Blossom. Girl had a gift for keeping it in check. No, Butch snorted and touched his hand to her collar bone, the edge of the dress curled up. 

“Fuck. That’s fine, I have glue. Not. Here.” At home, Buttercup groaned, her legs spread and shoulders bucked back into the seat.

“Yeah. Should have worn the suit.” Butch didn’t mean it, not anymore.

Was it surprising Butch was wearing a seatbelt? The chemical X didn’t make them invincible, it just took a lot more to break them. It couldn’t have been the law encouraging the behavior. He twisted and reach behind the seat, Buttercup recognized the bag in an instant. “What?”

“When Georgie told me you went rouge, I needed some fucking tie-in.” A little purse with a spaghetti strap string. In the dark, even with her eyes she could barely see the dark emerald stitching. Butch opened the purse, took a bottle, then handed her the small clutch. 

“Let Frankenstein glue together his monster.”

“Oh fuck off.” Buttercup folded her arms over her chest. He just wanted to cop a feel, his grin a dead giveaway! Butch shrugged and squeezed the tube,

“Fine. Put this shit on yourself. Get it all over the fabric. That’s classy.”

Buttercup tossed her phone at his chest, Butch let it smack him and leaned in close. The car glowed. His eyes a neon green. He dabbed the plastic tube along the fabric and pressed it flat to her skin. The fabric warm, had he been using heat vision too?

“Are you ironing my dress?”

“Do you know how fast you were flying? It’s like a fucking crease.” His pinky poked between her fabric and skin, he popped up loose edges and glued them back down. His touch soft against her skin. Buttercup held her breath. Her chest had rising into his hand, her breaths had gotten longer. Deeper. Rising to the touch, to his warmth. 

“Put this in your purse,” He tossed the bottle of glue at her nose. When the hell did he get it in his head she would carry a purse? Did she look like the purse carrying type? Whether she was proud or irritated at Butch’s assumption had yet to be seen, naturally it was wary. It did however hide the Octi-case she had narrowed. 

“You drove here?”

“No. Stole the car a street back.” Bad joke? Poor company? They glanced from one another to the road. Butch hadn’t said joking, 

“Butch! Seriously?!” Buttercup erupted ready to tear out of her seatbelt.

“Jeeezus.” He groaned, shaking the wheel without any real force. “How far does the stick up your ass go? God. I thought it was just the red one.”

“Stealing a car isn’t a joke.”

“Definitely don’t check the plates.”

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure?” Butch grinned in her direction. “You really think some joe on the street had a black car. Green underglow, leather seats? A fucking pair of dice.”

It was tacky. Awful. A convertible; the next best thing to flying. “This is actually your car?”

“I even have a building to park it in.” That wasn’t anything to boast about or convince her with. The building’s funding was still questionable. Buttercup hadn’t even collected payment, her conscious at war with her wallet. 

“We’re pulling up in style, Butterbabe.” 

“I’m literally going to punch you in the goddamn throat.”

The threat wasn’t empty, it wouldn’t have been the first time. Buttercup had done it for a lesser transgression in the past. He smirked. She didn’t smile, she didn’t look his way and watched out of the corner of her eye. His hands were at ten and two, his fingers drummed and picked at the pock marked wheel. Buttercup didn’t know if this was restlessness or nerves. Butch had never been nervous. He’d been mellowed or cranked up. The closest Buttercup had ever been had been arm’s length away. Until a month ago. 

Nerves.

He’d been afraid of a piece of paper. Critical of himself. She was in a car with a stranger. The approach to the gallery didn’t fool her. One arm over the back of her seat, one hand controlling the wheel. The posture as much of a mask as his glasses were.

The valet was googoo-eyed and tongue tied. Barf. She didn’t come here to listen to Butch peacock about his car. A hand caught Buttercup’s; fingers pressed hers to the door handle. “What decade were you born in? Chill.” The question of ‘who the hell do you think you are to tell me to chill’ blasted out of the water, knocked right out of top place by, ‘were his hands sweating?’

To be nervous was one thing. To show it? Buttercup would sooner bite her own tongue off, Butch being made of similar fixing was likely the same. Her eyes followed this stranger. Handing his keys with a scalding glare. Slipping a fifty with a smiling threat. His fingertips grazed the hood and followed the length of the car to her door.

What decade was Butch born in was the question he should have asked himself. The white building with arched doors and long glass panes all painted in a purple light. Her head tipped back, at the bottom of a spiral, her hand fell into Butch’s, disoriented. White lights floated above them, a trick of the mirrors. The stars she danced upon were right in front of them. Dark clouds a lace of purple. 

Wind from the car moving behind them her only summons to reality. Greens eyes watched hers and waited patiently. Green eyes caged behind glass, belonging to this stranger. Buttercup pulled her hand back and grabbed the rail.

“Shit. You a deer in heels? A horse?”

A stranger no more. 

“Jerkoff.” Buttercup took the stairs in stride, toned leg peaking out of its slit. Her footsteps oddly light. She was free out of Townsville! Blossom was never going to know! The stars were lower and it wouldn’t take much to soar into them.

“Buttercup.” Gravity latched onto her. His words had never been so heavy, so sharp, and pointed. _Don’t._ There was a glow to her in the reflection. She was someone new. Her dress exposing a woman under the grime and mirage that was Buttercup Utonium. An aura of wonder, a lining of green power about her. Her eyes glowed. 

This was his plea. 

She could be villain or hero. Take revenge and remind him what it was to do the exact opposite of what someone wanted. This was a scale, she might control which way to tip it, but it would be her own judgement. 

“Ready?” Buttercup practiced a breath, there was no magic in her reflection as they passed into the manmade universe. Checking herself, she missed the eyes that lingered. Butch held every door open. They groaned at the third set, where was everyone?

You got scammed! Buttercup laughed, Butch shot her a look daring her to say it again. Buttercup begun to take him up on it when a couple bumped into them, 

“Oh you took the left set of doors, didn’t you!” They chortled and held up a sign with an unfocused image of a body at the center, use the right doors, take another right. They weren’t the first victims to the wonderous glowing lights. Buttercup wouldn’t even consider it a loss. Apparently this part of the gallery was open—but not were the main event was happening. 

Can we stay, she didn’t ask, Butch already feet ahead and palms slipping in and out of his pockets, sneakily wiping the sweat from them.

The gallery on display was bathed in a blinding white light. The walls crisp and clean. The photos centered and spaced accordingly. Some had additional features, a photograph layered in multiple LED frames, all off center. Another masked in a veil of beads patrons ducked their heads under to witness the portrait hidden behind the shroud. 

“Did you ask for any of this?” Buttercup didn’t even know which had been his final submission, for all she knew he had gotten another participant last minute and photographed them instead. His smile had its typical wicked sneer. Eyes narrowed and heavy, put out by all the bustle. 

“Guess you’ll have to figure it out.”

“I’m your guest.”

“Are you though?” 

“Oh, I’ll show myself out.” Buttercup gestured over her shoulder. Butch shrugged, he pivoted and stepped away with his hands deep in his pockets. The stranger took root again. The span of his shoulders familiar but forgotten under a silk suit. The blinding light brought out the contrasting pinstripe. His hair flipped up and spiked. He stalled at a portrait.

One of his? Her stomach dropped. It was a woman. Beautiful in a blue sun dress, disappearing into the waves of the ocean, her smile brighter than the sun fading in the distance. He leaned towards the plaque, pausing to take it in. Not his. An actual stranger’s!

Buttercup laughed, low and unheard. Butch didn’t even look over his shoulder, too many surrounding voices. He looked like everyone else. Suited up. Taking a champagne flute from a silver plate and taking in each piece as its own. Had he always been interested in the arts? That seemed more of his brother’s thing. Butch wasn’t anything but…A pig, she had thought.

More and more, he was becoming a stranger, one her eyes found in the room no matter how far she was. The portraits were okay. She hadn’t found his. If she wasn’t looking for his work she was looking for him. What did he make of all this? Everything was like scrolling through someone’s camera roll, some on Halloween. Others a wedding. All the clothing looked nice, like something out of a magazine. But the contest had been so vague, how did they determine the parameters for a win? How many runner ups had there been? How many entrants? Shouldn’t there be a pamphlet?

For all her superpowers were worth, they did nothing for her unfocused. Freedom dulled her senses. Buttercup backed out of an exhibit, an eccentric piece with ribbons sectioning off how to view the photograph. She had seen someone else back out, she had made fun of them and wish Butch had been perusing the showroom with her to join her. But now she got it, _Sorry dude—my bad—totally get it._

“Oh,” Warm hands caught her on the bare spots on her shoulder.

“Oh.” The voice above her rivaled her shock, a small part of her never grew out of taking everything as a competition. ‘It’s not a contest, Buttercup!’ infamous words said by losers around her. Most of the time contests in her games had no idea they were contenders. “Buttercup.”

Stranger she was in a dress, hair wind swept, breasts taped up, and fabric glued to her skin. Of course he would still recognize her. He had seen her in the tightest of clothing. Without a shirt, even if it had been by accident. Him seeing her here wouldn’t be the end of anything,

“Brick.” Buttercup didn’t damn herself failing to not smile. Her mind hoped and thought ten steps ahead, while simultaneously managing to be two lightyears behind. “Hey. Hi. What are you doing here?” Some part of her brain worked, a knowing part didn’t ask the obvious: are you here for your brother? The brothers, truly family nameless, but allegedly annotated as Badass, were not estranged though Buttercup didn’t consider them close. Boomer, when asked, said his brothers were good when there wasn’t anything else to say. Brick didn’t bring up his family and Butch had a secret base.

“Writing an article.” Brick would be here, why wouldn’t he? He could take down even a gallery’s name. How many had he been to across the world? She tried to think how many he had robbed, his grandeur dimmed, Buttercup met his eyes. Same Brick. Same shitty posture she constantly had to tap his neck to remind him to sit up right—elongate his back. As if reading her mind, Brick suddenly stood taller. The tall black suit elongated his already slender frame. She had seen him in tighter garments, but the suits fit was flawless, even if it was not a second layer of skin. Seeing his bangs folded back into a smooth bump and blend into a tightly coiled bun was a first. Not a hair out of place. No strange lint on his persons. He wasn’t a stranger. He was finally the persona Buttercup had envisioned. Leader of the Rowdyruffs. Pristine. Perfect.

Someone must have known him, servers flocked around him toting trays of champagne and appetizers. Brick didn’t ask her or the server for the two drinks, he took what he wanted and offered a glass to Buttercup. The space thin between them. She’d be backing back into the exhibit to refuse him. 

With a free hand, Buttercup felt the small of her back warmed by his hand. He didn’t touch. His presence enough. Gently he guided her into a sparce space, out of the mouth of the funneled exhibit. 

“Is this why tonight is canceled?”

“You’re disappointed.” Buttercup smiled behind her glass, the clear flute showed him everything.

“A little.” He didn’t hide his smile, small as it was. “I was going to fly right over. Planned to pack spare clothes.” Buttercup only canceled unsure of how long an opening night gallery was supposed to last. Blossom said these sort of things NEVER ended, her own fault for organizing them and seeing every last person out, guests and staff. She hadn’t packed anything either, ready to fly home the minute Cinderella’s time had come.

“You don’t look like you flew.” 

“I drove. On your account.” Brick clucked his tongue. Did he want to dance among the stars too? Buttercup could have met him in the clouds, unseen in the dark swirls with his suit of night, his hair and eyes a flame the only guiding light. She looked away. Instead he and Butch likely had chased one another, unaware of their company. 

“I didn’t see your mustang.”

“Were you looking?” Of course he hadn’t. But now that she was here, Brick was thinking of the cars lined up in the back. He knew Buttercup’s. She drank away another smile, lip gloss smudging the rim of the glass. “I flew.”

His eyebrows lifted. Barely. Miniscule millimeters. Atom-sized movements that if she hadn’t been awake she was certain she was dreaming. Brick was relieved. He listened to her snarky comments working the room together. The side of his lip slowly curling up. She said what he couldn’t. He was working. His words reserved for the article. Tactful in their presenting. Buttercup was unfiltered and true. He got her a second drink, she got them the shrimp tempura tray.

“I got this, pal.”

“But.”

“Two seconds. I’ll bring it back. Momma hasn’t eaten.” She wasn’t lady like and winked at the fellow before holding the tray between them. Brick ate steadily with her. His smile easier and laugh smoother just the two of them amongst the crowd, people avoiding the guests with a tray.

“Mr. Brick.” Someone called him from across the room. Every crumbled wall reformed. Brick took the tray from Buttercup,

“I’ll see you.” He lingered. He left. Casually he passed off the tray without a second glance.

“You two assholes are chummy. What the hell?” Butch snapped suddenly behind her.

“Where have you been?” Buttercup licked the tip of her fingertips. He had left her, who she kept company when she wasn’t being paid for time wasn’t anyone’s concern.

He gestured around, wasn’t it obvious?

“Me too, shit. Who stepped on your dick,” Buttercup showed teeth and folded arms. “Are you surprised he’s here? He say shit to you?”

Butch cut her off quick, “no.” His brother might have flown entirely under his radar the remainder of the night if Buttercup hadn’t been wrapped up in conversation with him. It was possible they would have bumped into each other, jumped to conclusions, and landed in a fight on principle somehow the other had started the ordeal. It was good Butch knew who to look out for. How to disappear and remain out of Brick’s path. He wasn’t scared. Butch didn’t want to ‘deal with him.’

“Come on.” His shoes knocked into the back of her calf then her Achilles heel and he bumped his elbow into hers corralling her movements. “Have you seen it?”

Buttercup didn’t need to ask, far from the heart of the exhibit and toward a corner where wall met window. The photographs were veiled with a sheer black curtain, a red light hung above them. Buttercup saw her back first. The thin fabric a perfect divide of her lower half, she was topless and twisted to look over her shoulder but stopped, as if something had caught her attention. Her face wasn’t captured, only her parted, plush, lips. The print hung in the corner, the edges resting on plaster and glass. Her pale back red under the light, her attention stolen by the reflection in the ceiling to the floor window. Buttercup herself was too close to see herself in the reflection, but her portrait stared at Butch painted under the same light. Mostly swallowed by the City’s night. 

At least one version of her could look away. Portrait. Look at the portrait. The print wasn’t much better. Just in the shadow, between her fingertips Buttercup could see the hint of her areola. Beside it another photograph, this time the pair of them. From the lips down. Her body spared by the green robe taped over her nipples. Her chest partially smashed into Butch’s. Try as she might her eyes dropped low. The lace concealed them both nicely. But his cock appeared and vanished under the thick and thin patches of fabric. There wasn’t anything hiding them.

There she was. Her body right there. His too! Should she feel betrayed? Her intimates on display. Their grins were twisted high. “C,” Buttercup read the tittle aloud. Butch’s arm brushed hers as he stepped closer. He pointed,

“Cunt. Cock.”

Butch gestured at the image as a whole, “Carnal.”

“Sounds fair.” She snorted and he laughed, his chin touched his chest. 

“I thought you’d be pissed.”

“I’d be pissed if I looked like shit.” Buttercup sighed, she rubbed her eyes.

“Why the fuck do they have to have this light pointing up?” It wasn’t bright, but a black light. She glanced where it’d been pointed, then jerked her head back up to the ceiling. High above them, a larger than life photograph. Buttercup on the bed, her hands covering her face, with eyes peeking out between her fingers. They glowed green under the blacklight. The rest of the print was hard to see with the poor lighting. The mystery—what is she wearing here?

Barely anything. A scant triangle over her vagina, mostly rhinestones and threads of fabric over her thighs. Her breasts packaged sweetly in thin fabric. Buttercup knew if you saw it up close her entire breast was bare, only discolored with the fabric, the detail in the scalloped lace edge. With supervision, she could see the pert and hardened nipple. 

“Butch,” Buttercup hissed. 

“I requested a dark corner.” As if that gave him immunity, Buttercup punched his shoulder. 

“Seriously?!”

“It needed to be big to see the detail on all the stitching. The beading.”

“I hope they ID’d people before walking in.”

“I called that one X.” He laughed, chemical-X for the glow. X-rated. Essentially everyone had X-Ray vision with her lack of clothes. Buttercup pushed his back as they walked, Butch stumbled out. Upright again he was still a target, Buttercup socked his back, this time he didn’t flinch. He was stone.

“Here we are,” A woman purred. Long Blonde hair. Long tight white dress, blue trim lining a long peakboo of her entire chest, from sternum to pelvis. “The woman of the hour.” 

Butch stepped back. He’d never hid behind Buttercup before, he feared no one or anything. The pretty lady wasn’t someone to be afraid of, he was likely try to step out of arm’s reach. Women of the hour? That’s what they were calling her now with her tits hanging out?

“Lady Lime. Or do we just call you Lime? I put the Lady in, darling. Do you mind, Lady Lime?”

“Huh?” Buttercup gawked, her attention snapped to the blonde.

“Lime. I love your work—love is putting it lightly. I was hoping, contest aside darling, I could commission you for a private piece?”

Buttercup picked her jaw up. Lime wasn’t her stage name, it wasn’t her as a model. The blonde thought SHE had made the clothing, that she had created ‘the girl’ in the photos. “Oh you want to,” Butch hadn’t run out of reach, Buttercup’s fingers curled around the lapel and she wouldn’t need super strength to hurl Butch in front of her. This wasn’t her place. Not her job. NOPE.

Butch cut her introduction off, “Lime. Don’t be modest.” His smile had untwisted and loosened. How many edibles had he taken to relax every muscle? To dull every sharp feature, which was to say all of him, Butch could cut metal with a look and concrete on his cheek bones.

“Oh, darling. You must be Key, her assistant!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : I have been debating where to cut this chapter off. But I liked the little tease there. Butch submitted Buttercup as the designer and him as the assistant whhaaaattt muwahahaha. I have so much planned with that. And Key and Lime… AHAHAHA. I love puns okay? 
> 
> There are a lot of one liners I love in this fic ;3; and I love the Buttercup flying to the gallery scene.
> 
> Seriously please comment, like, AND SUBSCRIBE! I am hoping to add more to this. I just want sexy, fun, shenanigans and drama.
> 
> PS I don’t have a beta or patience to properly edit myself.  
>   
>   
>   
> Also I'm on tumblr: [Diedieri](https://diedieri.tumblr.com/)
> 
> On pillowfort:   
> [Manas-Moment](https://www.pillowfort.social/Manas-Moment)
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments/tags/reblogs there as well!


	3. Money Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Butch tilted his head, did she think he needed click bait? Their last time had been eye opening, Buttercup wasn’t a prude. She was open to possibilities. The world was a little less boring with someone to chase. He wanted to watch Buttercup burn alive, to be undone by his hand and succeed where none had. They were evenly matched in a fight, she had once ended him with a kiss, Butch never forgot a loss. He never forgave. She put a bounty on her head and it had been collecting interest. The weeks since their encounter her value doubled. The more expensive, the more warning signs, and off limit notices the more a Ruff wanted._   
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still working on my long tragic AU. But it’s a slow burn and I need a green fix stat. So this is an AU of an AU I’m working on lol  
> Enjoy! Please comment and let me know what you think!  
> Just as a reminder, this fic doesn’t have a beta  
>   
>   
>   
> Please be sure to leave kudos, comments, and reblog!

__

_Lie in Lime_

_Chapter Three:  
Money Shot  
_

Butch was a stranger. His lips were turned up and his teeth barred no malice. There was no blood or laughter dripping from his mouth, just pleasant chuckles. He adjusted his glasses – like he needed to see anything, was he blinded by his own bullshit?

“I do a lot of the fitting,” Butch explained. “Lime isn’t…” His wrist toiled and spun searching for the words, working around a filter he never exercised before. Buttercup had never heard him use so many words without fuck interlaid in every other word. “She rather design, sew, and pose!”

All eyes shifted to her. Buttercup bristled, arms folded tightly. “Would she?” She asked, voice curt.

Butch tilted his head and locked eyes with the blonde like two parents adoring a misbehaving child, they knew something she did. Not far from the truth! Apparently everyone knew she was this ‘LIME.’ He lifted his hand, fingers briefly touching her shoulder. She was ready to tell him to fuck off.

“Please, Lime. You’ve been waiting for this. Fatalle,” He gestured between both parties. “She’s,”

“An artist! Oh, please, Key. I’m delighted she even came! Do you know how many declined? Lady Lime, thank you. This.” She practically hip checked Butch out of the way and stole Buttercup’s hands and squeezed her hands. “I would have died if you didn’t show up for your plaque!” She brought a finger to her lips, secret, sweetie!

Plaque for what? Buttercup glanced at Butch, hands in his pocket and eyes wide and hopeful. He was at the cusp of a losing battle and hope was on the horizon. Was this where he pulled the carpet out, it’s me! I’m Lime!

Was she a hero? 

Why wasn’t he taking this? 

“Yeah,” her voice went up and down the false pretense of excitement weighed down with dread. God, did she have to get on stage? It might have been bearable before. No one but Butch here to bear witness to the fruits of his crimes, except now there was Brick. He’d see the winner; they’d all go check out the winning piece. Brick would see her tits for the second time. But he wouldn’t know his brother had shot the photographs. If he could be secret, then Brick knowing it was just her was fine. 

Fine. Fuck it. She would be Lime. 

“Key,” Butch could have pumped his fist in victory, Buttercup still expecting to see him toss the glasses off now that she had agreed, mission accomplished. Instead he skulked up her side, head ducked into his neck.

“Yes?”

“I’m feeling parched.”

His eyebrow twitched up. “That’s the persona you’re taking with this?”

Her lips sputtered in a raspberry. “I didn’t know where to go with this.” They whispered and excused themselves. Was she supposed to ask? Away from the host, his haunched shoulders were straightened and broad, he was tall and his eyes hard lines. He was less a stranger. They stuck to the outskirts of the exhibits, Buttercup put her hands on his back to keep him walking past his own pictures. Going back in was beginning for her to question him. She didn’t want to bring it up, he didn’t look eager to say it himself.

Chiming drew the attention of all guests. Butch adjusted his tie. He shifted left to right. Ms. Fatalle thanked all participants. There were three winners. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x- x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x- x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x- x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x- 

“One bed?! First you wrangle me into staying the night! Then I have to meet that broad tomorrow! Pretending to be Lemon—And you booked a room with ONE bed?!”

“I booked the suite. The top shelf suite, not mom’s taking the kids on a vacation in a hotel suite.” True the room was impressive. Windows ceiling to floor. Bed on a platform in an alcove of windows. She hadn’t had the chance to be impressed how the curtains had drawn back upon their entrance. 

“There’s a jacuzzi.”

“Butch. I literally just have this dress.”

There was a pause, he repeated “There’s a jacuzzi.” 

He flinched from her fist with a grin, “in my defense. I didn’t actually know. I booked the room for a pity party.” Of one. He had called ahead, the fridge was stocked with booze, a bottle of wine already emptied by them, a second emptied and poured in each of their glasses to the brim. 

“Butch, I need to stop. I,” Buttercup shook her head. 

“Bitch, we’re celebrating! Second fucking place? The winner slept with that bitch.”

“That bitch is meeting you for a commissioned dress.”

“Rich bitch. Sorry, shit. Just drink! We have to drink fast to feel it.” He lifted each of their glasses, Buttercup took hers from his, slow to tip it back. He promised nothing would happen in Townsville, to not worry how he knew. He had sent out a text. What could that actually do? A Ruff issuing a threat sounded more like a challenge criminals would rise to.

“If it does ring. I will fly all the way back with you. Two inebriated super heros make one super one.”

Buttercup drank, “I may be a college dropout, but even I can do that math.” Butch nodded in her direction, do go on, pray tell! He hadn’t known the details. He knew what the papers said about the sisters, which never included many details on his counterpart. There might have been issues he missed, he didn’t make a habit of reading papers or checking in on his former enemies. 

“What? Didn’t know?” Buttercup polished her drink off. Butch hooped and floated above her head to the ice chest. He’d gotten her to drink with the sob story. He bought copious amounts of booze to cope with the loss. He didn’t want to drive home irritated. He liked this car and crashing it would be a disgrace. He booked a room. Booked booze. And packed his suitcase with pot, clothes, and his camera to through off the roof.

Second place was for losers, when they didn’t call out Lime for third; he realized it would have been enough. He just wanted proof that his investment wasn’t a waste. Buttercup said she didn’t think Butch had that word in his vocab. He laughed, popped a bottle and poured their glasses to the brim. 

I guess we don’t know each other at all, he said.

“I wasn’t happy.” Buttercup explained, they didn’t know anything about the other. They shared this in common, existing in failure, second best was a victory for them both. It was Butch’s vision, but the crowd had commented how lovely the model was. Brave. Brass. She sold the clothes, they said. “I dropped out and everyone was happier. The Professor lived a little more. They didn’t have to check on me anymore.”

“The calls stop when you’re out of trouble.” He smiled, Buttercup didn’t read the look as good. The boys didn’t know his brother had a studio, that he created lingerie and clothing.

“Brick was there tonight,” Buttercup reminded him. Butch shrugged and mixed three bottles in a stout glass cup. “Why not talk to him?”

“Your sisters know about your modeling?”

They were strangers to the people they knew well. 

“This tastes awful!” Buttercup stuck out her tongue and tried passing the glass back, Butch emptied his own, his face pulled tight and eyes watered.

“You’re drinking it to slow, Butterbabe. C’mon sugar, bottoms up!” He snapped his fingers, quick, quick! Buttercup groaned drinking it down, liquid spilled down her chin. 

“God. I need to get out of this dress.” She wiped her chin, Butch stood and began taking off his tie, well if she insisted! He caught the pillow tossed at his head and dropped it back on the bed. “Seriously! I don’t want to ruin it! Taking off your fucking glasses, nerd.”

“What? They make me look smart!” He cinched up his tie admiring his reflection in the windows, soft blue light following the frame. “Fine. Hey. I got a shirt you can wear.”

“I need pants, cunt.”

“You wanna see my cock later? I need pants. C’mon.” He tipped a bottle into his mouth.

“Butch, c’mon you won!” She tugged at the bottle, he let it go easy and turned it up towards her mouth. She drank only a mouthful. It was a Buttercup few had seen, mostly Mitch. Ace. Drinking wasn’t bad! She had shots with her sisters, wine nights with Bubbles and bubbley. She didn’t do it often, she was on call. Once she sobered up with a charge of energy, but after the fight she’d been weak for days! Her body had never felt so empty. So human.

There was no logical reason to keep drinking. But she was always responsible. Her. Not Blossom. She was the one looking out for the thankless town. Over and over. But Tonight, they had won! She never celebrated victories, she skipped so many parties and always promised herself a next time, that her sisters deserved the night off and she would do it next time. She would party of one these days.

Tonight was her night.

“Aha!” Butch laughed, “fuck. I swear I didn’t plan this. But please. Please.” He waved a long white tank top at Buttercup. It was all he had besides clothes to wear in the morning, they were surprisingly in good taste. Button up black top and fitted slacks. He didn’t want to come out of the hotel looking like a drowned, hungover street rat, he explained. Now he’d have clothes to go out and find something acceptable for Buttercup to wear to their meeting with Ms. Fatalle. Lime couldn’t be seen in just anything, not after this dress.

Buttercup couldn’t look him in the eye after that. Her cheeks were flushed with more than alcohol. Getting out of said dress might have been a reprieve if she had been wearing a bra and something more than a thong. The tanktop only reached down to the top of her thighs, it was worth the change, avoiding the risk of soiling her dress. Butch helped her hang it in the closet.

“Why are you shirtless?” He wore only briefs! Buttercup’s scowl, a familiar twist of her lips. 

“Same reason you’re in a tanktop.” He held up his hands, no tricks up these sleeves! “And.” He produced another mix drink and pointed at a speaker with his phone. What a sweet suite! He crowed, his playlist streamed through the speakers. Not as good as the ones in his studio. His speakers made it feel like a concert, surrounded by music! An even blanketed sound, she hadn’t realized how spoiled he’d made her.

“It’s DARE!” Butch tapped their glasses together, this time Buttercup was the victor, and thrusted the empty glass above her head. “Don’t make it a competition, Buttercunt. I’ll smoke you.” He gnashed his teeth, then swayed to the music.

Buttercup laughed, she rocked forward and back, her entire world moving with every chuckle. “Okay. No. You have enough to smoke! Butch. Nono, no! No more drinks.” Of course he didn’t listen, he tore the seal off a bottle of wine and fought with the opener. 

“Weak.” Buttercup punched his shoulder.

“Trying not to break the bottle, goddamn. You don’t even go here,” he shoved her head away, then grabbed her wrist before she went too far. 

“Is this music too loud?” She asked, Butch turned it up. 

“Don’t. Just. Enjoy! This isn’t criminal!”

“It’s being an asshole!”

“It’s the mother fucking suite! No one is below us. If they are?” He grinned, “Next time they’ll pay for top shelf. Trickle down, babe.”

“Butch, please?”

“I want to dance. Enjoy it!” He held up the bottle, a drink for him, a drink for her. The same delight didn’t reflect from her. Butch bounced impatiently. “What the hell, Butts? You ever just say, fuck everyone. Fuck the world. Just be you? Fuck the rules?”

“Not like the BIG rules.” He gestured to himself, Buttercup got it. Not major criminal laws. Of course she let loose, just not big. Not enough to share. She liked to speed! She roughed up monsters and her level of brutality would have been considered a crime, if not against a monster.

“I wish I was here in high school. You know. The impressionable years.”

“Oh no. I was not anyone to meet in high school.”

“Loser?”

“Hell no.”

“Nerd?”  
Buttercup made a fist.

“Yeah, fuck high school. Dropped out of that shit. Least you made it to college, heyo!” They high fived. 

“You dropped out?” Buttercup held onto his hand, Butch squeezed hers in return. 

“We all did. But Brick made us study. We all have our GEDs. Brick went to college. Fast track shit.”

“Oh.” Buttercup leaned in, why did he drop out? Why did he insist his brother continue to study? Where had they gone? She didn’t realize Butch begun swinging their hips, his drink behind her back. They weren’t in time with the music. 

“You need to turn it down.”

Butch didn’t shake his head, he steered Buttercup around the room. They weren’t really dancing, it would have been possible to fool someone if they were still dressed in the clothes worn at the gallery. Buttercup drank. Butch mirrored her drinks two for one.

“Turn it down.”

“Jacuzzi?”

“Deal.” At least the guests could rest and her punishment was warm water bubbling at her back. She couldn’t remember ever being in a jacuzzi. She played in pools growing up, birthday parties, rarely did she have time to make trips to the beach, most of her trips were spoiled by monster attacks. Now days she didn’t bother, free time was spent sleeping. She’d taken a bath at her sister’s house when she was house sitting, that was like a jacuzzi. 

Her only top would get wet. The alcohol dulled that concern, Butch dropped the music to low rumble and slow jogged his way to the balcony door. She followed with the drink at her lips. “Fancy,”

“Top shelf.” He dropped into the water, the hottub not meant for a such a splash, but not to be out done her splash was twice as large, the water’s wake rocked high on Butch’s neck, tilted up to finish his drink. 

“Why is there a bottle out here waiting. Butch. You can’t be serious.” The bottle sat in bucket of melted ice water. The hotel had prepared it for him, another request, a curtesy? Did she want to know the inner makings of his pity party? How much did a Rowdyruff need to drink to feel its affects? They got hurt like everyone else, time wore on their bodies, they only healed differently and endured greater pains. Buttercup knew her limits. She knew how much was too heavy, how hot was hot, and when to give her all in a fight because if she didn’t, she was good as dead. 

She didn’t know the limits of a drink. It stalled the tilt of her wrist, she started paying attention to the dullness in his eyes. How could he enjoy that? They had reputations to uphold, this was the notorious half-assed-ruff-way. Her knees were jello-ed and her head light and warm. 

“Why are you sitting so fucking far?” His words didn’t slur, he drank. What was the difference between enduring a loss and celebrating a win? His foot touched her ankle at the bottom of the heated pool. There was no slyness, she pinned his ankle under the balls of her feet. Not a game. They weren’t a thing, or a hookkup. Not friends with benefits either, he made it clear as mud. Buttercup wasn’t going to muck up the shit.   
He grinned, the usual sharp edges weren’t so much as dulled with the drink but their message distorted. Drinking put nothing in anyone’s else’s favor and sat them instead at a disadvantage. Buttercup could read his smile, impish, wicked, bored. His eyes, serious, playful, or shithead. They looked all the same, all possibilities rolled into one message she hadn’t been asked to anticipate. 

He knew his game. Butch always knew and didn’t play anyone else’s. He drank.

“Keep up, Butts. You’re body is going to start burning this shit off.” He passed her the bottle, she barely tipped it back. 

“What are we doing here, really?” This was a honey mooners event.

“Watching your shirt get wet. Totally not planned, not unwelcome.” He said it as if it was a consolation. She didn’t bother glancing down at herself, the fabric stuck to her skin, she knew exactly what he was looking at. Buttercup kicked his shin, the water waving between them. 

“Eyes to the sky asshole.” Nothing he hadn’t seen before, she thought, true to form, he said it with a wiggle of his eyesbrows. “Principle of the matter.” She crossed her arms.

“Pri-niple.” Butch snorted. “Fuck. That was funny.” It wasn’t. He drank to it anyway. He drank again and only offered Buttercup another drink at the end of the bottle. She didn’t think he was assuming she wasn’t used to drink, rather Butch wasn’t used to sharing. Without care he went in and out of the room, trailing wet footsteps behind himself as he brought them fresh drinks. 

“Butch.” He poured her a glass, his eyebrow raised. “Are you upset you won?”

“We got second place, not first.”

“You’re upset you didn’t win.”

“Second place.” This smile she knew, sarcastic and shit eating. He toasted to her. A losing thing? Okay. She could understand that, no one wanted to be the first loser. But he was on the podium, nearly. He would have been if he hadn’t put the design label under her name.

“It’s because it wasn’t ornate enough. Cock suckers should try putting tiny ass beads on a tiny piece of fabric.” He chugged, “did you see those other shitty ass pictures? If they didn’t have those lights, my shit? Fine stand alone.” Buttercup nodded, each piece had their draw. Some she didn’t understand, some of the clothing she thought would be better in person. 

“Your lighting was right though.” The red and black light, the purple on the glass windows. He avoided her eyes, he knew it. He didn’t need it, he murmured. 

“I never looked so good, like my name up in lights.”

“your tits.”

“For fuck’s sake. Seriously?” Buttercup kicked him again, he kicked back. 

“Seriously,” Buttercup repeated. “What’s the deal? You had it. You pretty much won. Why did I accept your award?” Why was she Lime? Butch snatched the parcel of papers from her after she finished the congratulations. Had he planned it from the start? The model the patesi all along?

“You’re slow, look at me.” Butch handed Buttercup the bottle, she chugged a drink as a reward. He was cooperating. 

“I’m looking.”

“No, LOOK.” Butch grabbed the bottle, grabbed her wrist and brought her over to him. The closer she got, her body tensed and flexed. Butch dropped his hand to hold her waist. “Look.” Buttercup demanded.

“Okay?” His eyes were green, not a soft comfortable mossy green. Or the same green you dug your toes into on freshly cut grass. This was biohazard green. Levels toxic. Poison—back up! Funny. She hadn’t thought the same with the glasses, distract by the frames she focused on the thick black rails around the viper pits.

“You’re just, Butch.”

“Yeah.” He was Butch. Rowdyruff. Ruffian. Townsville ex-mostwanted. He was the monster under your bed. Every knew it. Even Buttercup. He was Butch. “If Butch had lost back there, I would have blown those zoinkers to HIM’s den and back.” He had been Key. He was a shoddy, glasses wearing, clark-kent mother fucker.

Buttercup shook her head, that was ridiculous! Butch tipped the bottle against her mouth and pushed the bottle back. “I didn’t fly. I didn’t fight. Snuck right under Brick’s bunk ass nose. I was good.”

“You were good.” Buttercup repeated, “Why?”

Butch drank off the same bottle, he had all night. Before she wasn’t sitting this close, her shirt hadn’t been see-through, and he had not been touching her back. 

“What bat shit babe, would buy anything from me? I’m fucking Butch! I’m awesome, but who the fuck?”

Buttercup shrugged, her hand raised. “I’m wearing it aren’t I?”

“Are you?” His hand dropped low to the side of her ass. Buttercup, no, the alcohol laughed loud and shrill. She bounced up and towards him into waiting arms. He pulled her onto his thigh. “Nothing, nothing.” He scooted the hem of the white tank up and up. Buttercup shook her head and tossed it back,

“No, dork! Not now! Just.”

“Where the fuck is it?” He stopped looking at her thighs and stared at her face. What was so toxic about his eyes? They were a reflection. Buttercup’s were just as radioactive, danger-danger, and he didn’t look away. “Why aren’t you wearing something of mine?”

“Do you sell it?”

“Yeah. I do. Just…” Buttercup dropped her head low trying to catch his eyes, just what? Butch was this stranger of hers and a world of secrets. No longer were the girls concerned about the boy’s hiding place—where did he sell it?

“I own the shop under my studio, you know. So there.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by.”

“God. Fuck. Milk it a little harder, I’ll give you a damn set.” He rubbed high on her thigh over her thong. “Because this feels like you bought it at the supermarket.”

“The mall.”

“What store?”

“I don’t know!” Who remembered the time and date they shopped? Alright, so she did. It had been a gift from Bubbles for enduring shopping with her all day. Buy five get one free, Bubbles picked her out the free one. Buttercup felt bad about it. Of course she remembered, she needed to do something to pay her sister back, something more than being an ear when she needed to vent.

“If I saw it I could tell you.”

“Nice try cock sucker.”

Butch tilted his head, did she think he needed click bait? Their last time had been eye opening, Buttercup wasn’t a prude. She was open to possibilities. The world was a little less boring with someone to chase. He wanted to watch Buttercup burn alive, to be undone by his hand and succeed where none had. They were evenly matched in a fight, she had once ended him with a kiss, Butch never forgot a loss. He never forgave. She put a bounty on her head and it had been collecting interest. The weeks since their encounter her value doubled. The more expensive, the more warning signs, and off limit notices the more a Ruff wanted. 

“I can tell by feeling,” Butch twisted his hand and slid it between her legs and against the bed of the fabric. She jolted up right and his left arm held her in place, the irony not lost on him this one might really fly away.

“Butch!” Buttercup twisted her fingers in his hair, she’d fisted and ruined plenty of his shirts, he wasn’t about to have his hair pulled out by the roots.

“Bitch,” He rubbed his thumb over her clit, “you like it.” His head jerked to the right with her hand. His thumb still swirling the button under the wet fabric. Shame he couldn’t tell if it was from him or the hottub. He wasn’t being an ass, Buttercup would have broken his wrist and sent him through the glass into the room and he wouldn’t be able to stop her…IF she didn’t want it.

“Buttercup,” her hugged her close and spoke into her ear, her nails scratched his neck. This was the opposite place of where she wanted to be tonight. Now that she was here, her body implored that she enjoy herself! It would be so easy with him, his fingers already running over her. His eyes lost and lusty. Buttercup lifted herself up and seated again with one knee hitting the sides of the hottub, the other right on his cock.

“Fuck,” He grinned. She held his shoulders. His stomach rolled up and arched toward her, Buttercup pushed him down. 

“Nu-uh, this is all for momma. Only petting.” Butch look horrified! Introductions had been last time. His chin nodded obedient. Subservient. At least it was something, Buttercup rocked on his cock as reward for his silent compliance. Butch tipped his chin up to the sky,

“Goddamn you’re a bitch.” His silence could only go for so long, Buttercup rocked again and he grabbed the sides of his face and pulled the skin under his eyes down long. “How can you stand this?”

“I like seeing you suffer. Can’t quit being a hero because it’s the weekend.” She grabbed his hands, they vanished under the water. “What did I say, hm?” Buttercup felt him twitch under her. She squeezed his wrists and his body went rigid. 

“You’ll stay right there?” He asked his voice in a waiver, Buttercup let out a loud, ha! She’d do what she wanted. No promises! 

“Get to work,” She pinched his cheek then yanked on the back of his head, “Gentle asshole. No wonder you don’t have a fucking girlfriend.”

He grunted and tugged at her panties. It was her turn to scowl and his grin run triumphant in the lead. “Let’s see what Miss Green likes, hm?” Butch brought the ripped fabric up from the water. He took one glance then through it over his shoulder, over the balcony.

Butch felt the pull of power, the pinch of gravity as she was about to break every law of reality that applied to anyone but them. He stopped her with a single finger. Her chest lifted toward him and his left hand held the small of her back. The oh was cute but he wanted to know what she’d say with something else inside her.

RowdyRuffs were notorious for rough, hard, fast, quick, and dirty. Their first and only escapade had felt rowdier than this. Butch was taking his time, something Buttercup was learning Butch took seriously. He devoted his efforts to his art and had little patience for anything else. An hour late was an hour too long. Gently and slowly he rubbed her slicked insides. Every time she began to ride his finger, learning the pattern his thumb massaged her clit and he held her back to stop her from falling into the water. He wanted Buttercup to hurt. He wanted her to ache with need and feel how miserable it was to have someone sitting on your goddamn dick! The back of his hand bumped his lower-head. He kept his face painted stern and stoic.

She liked him hungry and horny, wanting and frothing. All be damned if he was just going to hand over everything.

“Trust me on this,” Butch lifted them both and laid Buttercup on the concrete edge, her legs still in the water. He rolled up his white tank on her chest, the fabric was entirely see-through. “We should let it dry.” His eye narrowed, Buttercup read him like a book. He just wanted her top off and had he told her to take it off, she would have sacked him in the balls.

But as it was. Her top did need to dry out. Buttercup sat up and lifted the fabric from her chest entirely. The pair maintained eye contact, a silent dare for Butch to look anywhere else. Their smiles even tilted upward, one of them was bound to look away. Bound to blink and loose.

“Don’t throw this over. Hang it up.”

“Your majesty.” Butch made a show of rolling his eyes and bowing at the waist. His eyes looked up and fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Buttercup was a slice of heaven. He would have to thank the professor personally. Buttercup was perfection. And damned it all, thank the man she had a little less lady like quality to her. Her legs were open. Buttercup had a Brazilian pathing the way to a pink divide. She kicked out a leg and pressed her foot to his chest.

“Hang up the shirt, Butch.” He floated and did as he was told. Buttercup had a full eye of the erection in his briefs. This soldier was at attention.

Back in the water, Butch came between her legs. No trickery here, his dick completely submerged. 

“You’re going to want to lay back.”

At last, Buttercups thighs pressed toward one another, Butch held her knees in place. Interest in her breast lost as he looked for other signs of excitement. Her tummy sucked in as if she could pull back the heat floating through her. The hottub couldn’t hide wetness now. Butch held her gaze again, she could see the victory already in his eyes. Victory at his literal fingertips as he touched the thin patch of hair, down, down, down to were she wasn’t just wet but a thickness formed and trapped itself in hairs. Buttercup held her breath. She wouldn’t lose!

His finger spread the evidence along her hidden lips, he swirled her clit, and! Buttercup gasped! Heat spiked and she felt herself drip!

“Lay back, Buttercup.” Water followed Butch as he rose out of the water and he begun kissing her neck.

“No, not there!” She had her hands on the elastic band of his pants and pulled him down to earth. He was going rouge, villains didn’t listen to the plan and his mouth took in the tip of her breast. His finger had worked back inside her and he felt Buttercup’s gasp. Her body move toward the pressure his finger offered. She was as much a pool as the hottub water.

Relief or something to be desired, Buttercup clawed his back as he left her nipple wet and taut. “Take care of that,” he bit her hip and his hips disappeared back into the water. He lowered himself until all she could see was her naked body and Butch’s head, kissing the inside of her thigh.

Standards and status-quo be damned. She worked hard, who the fuck cared if they had a near one night stand? They didn’t need to talk about it, she didn’t want to think she just wanted to feel good. Life was dull and listless and Butch had made her heart race again. Had this been her missing ingredient? All these years she just needed triple-X mixed into her concoction and life would have been thriving again?

It wasn’t that it was Butch. He was an asshole. He just happened to be the current asshole with his tongue inside her. 

“Yeah,” Buttercup laughed and ran her hand along her body. The midnight air rose fine hairs and shivered the salvia ring around her nipple. Buttercup lifted her hips towards the warmth, moaning at the intrusion. Butch’s mouth heated her entire body from her core. Chills replaced with a steamy want. Her fingers twisted in her hair.

Suddenly just his tongue wasn’t enough—Triple-X just fuck him! But something a little to vanilla, a little to Blossom sighed in disappointment. A Rowdyruff? Had she sunk so low?

Buttercup bursted with an untimely yes, her legs folded around Butch’s neck and kept him close. His shoulder bumped against her calf and she wished she could see more of him. What was his face while wringing his cock? Did she taste that good? He could do this hands free if he put it somewhere else.

“Hey buddy boy,” her breasts bounced as she sat up, Butch watched. “Put that hand to work.” Buttercup slid her palm down, two fingers made a V, scissors threatening Butch’s tongue. He licked his teeth and watched. His throated bobbed when her middle finger disappeared. Despite popular belief, the Ruffs were both observant and excellent at orders.

“Yes ma’am.” Buttercup already on a high, and slick, giggled in delight when two of his fingers slipped in. Her body pulled forward with his arm, hugging her waist and she put her finger into his mouth. Her control was soon lost. At first it was being a little dizzy, maybe it was the booze making it easy to open up and heating her on the inside. Butch wiped away any doubts, he sweeping finger timed perfectly with the bouncing of her body, the tinges of need pulling at her gut. She was completely unmade when his thumb pressed her clit. 

Buttercup had given the orders but Butch was back in control. She knew it when his hand slowed and she’d looked down to reprimand him. He was smirking. 

“You want it?”

“Fuck off!” Buttercup was unsteady.

“Say it babe,” it was a big thing. It was being fucked and she still had a bug in her ear keeping that gate close. Dammit. 

“I’m going to come,” Buttercup snatch the back of his head. “You’re going to make it happen.” A happy compromise! She didn’t feel like she was totally losing at the hand of Butch, it was still on her orders though he was delivering. 

This wasn’t like the last time. Butch was inside her, she was nude and clinging to him. He wanted her to know this didn’t have to be a one hit wonder. Who ever she spent her time with wouldn’t be able to hold a candle to him. The world was full of plebes. Mundane. Useless. Townies. They had been at each other’s necks and so often he could have torn into her before, and she could annihilate his body. Maybe they hadn’t only because they knew it would be a waste. The doomsday clock had been ticking to this moment. 

Buttercup snapped to attention, her nails dug into his back, and body tense. She felt energy shift and almost flew back to throw down. His eyes were wild and glowing. His white wolfish teeth caught the moonlight. Then she felt it. Just at the tip of his finger. A controlled power pulsating inside her.

“What the fuck,” She asked, then again quicker, her chest lifted and all of her wanted to follow, Butch held on tight. 

Her face hid in his neck, palms splayed wide on his shoulder blades. Butch had never heard Buttercup beg before. 

“Please.”

It only took one word. He’d plan for more next time, for now he wanted to see what this Buttercup was like as a hot mess. He released her waist and palmed her clit with the same little bursts of energy. Hot. Encompassing. Pressure. His left hand vanished under the water.

Ladies first and shit, right? Good thing. He came quick watching her neck strain and body arch back. He didn’t risk blinking, afraid to miss a second of Buttercup’s unfolding. She was no good at keeping her expressions in check, eyebrows pulling down tight. Whining and mewling as she laid back. He bit his check, his body flexed but was otherwise skilled at remaining undetected. Habit. Or he didn’t want to hear her bitch about jizzing in the hottub. The hotel knew what they were getting themselves into. 

Like the first night, the spell was broken. Butch zipped in and out of the hotel room, he brought them each a towel. They didn’t mention what they had just done. Like every fight they had ever been in it was just something to move past. They needed the outlet, their counterpart was there to provide it. 

The feeling of being in a heat of the moment and sitting in the after math, were horribly polar. The towel felt too thin and short. The guise of the night and height of the room still left her feeling too exposed. And Butch was on his fucking phone. It was just a thing. An unspeakable thing. But at least when they brawled they had the decency to leave each other’s company before pretending the other didn’t exist. 

I should text Bubbles, even the playing field. She could be nonchalant too! Before she could text her phone already had a message waiting.

Brick: Congratulations.

Oh fuck. Right. After their conversation she only saw Brick as she walked across the stage—if you could call it that. More of begrudgingly remember that first came her left foot then right foot, and it was better to walk heal-toe in heels. She wasn’t elegant like Blossom or darling as Bubbles. She didn’t do the press, all eyes were never on her unless at a stark distance. But the passing glance from one of the brothers had steadied her. A soft upward glance of a small a little nod. She couldn’t see the shock in the red head’s eye but she certaintly managed to imagine it.

Thanks, Buttercup replied. When it felt too short and empty she added, sorry I didn’t see you again.

The immediate reply shocked her,

I had to duck out early. I’ll treat you later.

Treat? Why did she need to be treated? It wasn’t her work and Brick was under no obligation.

Lol. It’s cool man, She typed then erased it before sending the message. Did she want to go out? No. yes. She didn’t want to owe him a meal back.

We could get smoothies before yoga. – A non-comital reply, no guarantee who was treating who and the smoothies were cheap. She did not owe herself any treats after spending more than she could dream of on her damn dress. But she could forgive herself for a 8 dollar smoothie. 

Cool, next session then.

“Alright Butterbuns,” Butch dropped by her side with his phone between them. “How’s these? Pick one. I’ll pick it up in store tomorrow.”

“Jesus,” there were over twenty things in his cart. Butch had been window shopping on his phone, preparing for the morning. Designing Lady Lime’s outfit without putting the pieces together himself. Half of the picks were over the top, too much for her. Others were right inline with her style, she would have purchased herself if she found it on a bargain rack or in a second hand store. 

“You’re not buying me shit, Butch.” She didn’t want to buy it either however. The night was supposed to have been contained to the dress!

“Yeah, the towel is a real statement.” He tugged at the tugged in top layer of fabric. Buttercup bent his finger back, he only laughed and shook out the feeling. “Seriously.”

“Dammit Butch. How long are we even going to be there?”

“Long enough to need something under the towel. How about this?”

Buttercup shook her head and looked away, “whatever the hell ‘Lime’ would wear.” She crunched her fingers into air quotes and expected resistance. Every conversation was push and pull with Butch, he was infinitely bored and being a shit helped pass the seconds.

“Cool. Done.” He placed an order and laid back on the concrete, towel over his waist, legs in the water. Buttercup lowered herself into a similar position, phone clutched in her hand and the screen face down. 

“Hey,” Butch said in a low voice. “Thanks, you know.” Her silence let him continue, he didn’t pick up the conversation right away and took to knocking their ankles together first. “Doing this.”

Doing anything felt more pertinent to what they had just done not what she was doing for Butch. Honestly, which topic was more of a priority she didn’t know. This was supposed casual, she supposed. Not commentary worthy. 

“Yeah. Anytime.” She said it without thinking and thinking too much on what their boundaries were.

“Oh. Yeah.” He folded his arms behind his head, “cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noice. 
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> PS I don’t have a beta or patience to properly edit myself.  
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> Also I'm on tumblr: [diedieri](https://diedieri.tumblr.com/)  
> On pillowfort: [Manas-Moment](https://www.pillowfort.social/Manas-Moment)  
> Please feel free to leave comments/tags/reblogs there as well!


	4. Pearl Necklace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was a losing battle, every breath felt like her last. They burned and ached until finally—she sobbed. She didn’t want to hurt anymore and letting the tears out and her cry fall eased the tension coiled tight inside her..._
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> _“Fuck you! Fuck this fucking town!” Her fists hit her chest, hard enough to shake the car and bloom a bruise quick after contact. She hit herself again and hoped she might just hit through her chest and rip the feelings out._
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> _Tears were louder than any raging waterfall. She hadn’t heard footsteps and only just heard the tap on her window._
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> __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder I do not have a beta and I just…. Get so excited I do a quick read then slap this shit up. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter…. It’s VERY self-indulgent and spicy and saucy.  
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_Lie in Lime_

_Chapter Four:  
Pearl necklace  
_

Would she feel better if she could sleep easy next to Butch? There wasn’t anything bad fooling around with him. This wasn’t hero’s guilt. It was pure uncertainty. Buttercup didn’t like guess work. Though it hadn’t stopped her from muddling her way through life. First it was unsure what sports team to join, what to major in, was it wrong to drop out of school? Her sister’s had reasonable jobs. None of them were married with the hints and suspicions that Bubbles and Boomer wouldn’t be far from it. Her sister was obsessed! Buttercup was happy for her and endlessly jealous. How could she know that was the right thing to do?

Fooling around with Butch was fun, there just wasn’t definition that’s what they were doing. Was she his employee or booty call? She hadn’t been paid, they hadn’t had sex—granted she had not asked again. Now it almost felt like a hooker, she muddied the waters too far to make the distinction clear.

Butch was out like a light, unbothered by her proximity, trusting she wouldn’t do anything. He was forever fearless. He could handle anything. Buttercup left the bed and moved the chair in front of the balcony door. Her skin felt silky with the hotel soap, better than the crap she used. The carpet bouncy and crisp, though she doubted it. The entire hotel room likely got more traffic than her one bedroom dump and yet everything about it felt fresh. Maybe it wasn’t Butch that kept her awake, but instead the wonder why couldn’t she have this too?

She saved the town from devastation weekly and tonight was the first time she was going to bed without dirt under her nails. She had worn a dress practically made for her! Tomorrow she’d be someone else, a woman who made her dreams come true. A lie. She was Butch’s bitch and his puppet.

-x-

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

No. Buttercup did little talking without even trying, the woman hardly shut up. Both gushing about “Lime’s” work and what she’d like to see in her own dress. Butch had never been more studious. He watched her with the same attention he gave his garments. Buttercup covered her midriff. The crop top was a bit much but the high waisted shorts were cute. Wearing her shoes from the night before and cat eye shades Butch had ordered, Buttercup pulled it off as a complete look.

“I’m not going to have to deliver it to her, will I?”

“You’re the designer,” He laughed, “hell no. Send your minion.” 

“You want to be my minion, Butchy?”

He made a face and hung his chin on the steering wheel, “I kind of fucked myself into that hole.” He slipped on shades and sat up right again in the valet parking. Butch didn’t even need to show ID before the bellhop brought his bag to the trunk. It was the familiarity that came with money. He didn’t look like a RowdyRuff in a black suit, silver chain, and rings. He still looked like a gangster, but one dealing in laundering and his fingers sanitized rather than covered in blood of his own beating. She was unfamiliar with this version of Butch. Handsome and devilish. 

“I guess you’re driving us back to Townsville?” Not her home. It was too dingy, too small, and too unfit for Powerpuff. None of her family had seen it, neither would any of her friends.

“Got some place to be?” Butch took off like there was a date he’d miss. Buttercup slumped low in her seat. She couldn’t correct his behavior, guilty of it herself. Driving a car was ball and chain, the least they could do was make it interesting. At a red light, Butch put down the top. For them it would have been easy to talk with wind whipping by them 100 miles per hour down the interstate. It was however, quiet between them again.

Buttercup couldn’t say if it was the depression they weren’t flying was killing the mood or if it was just her unable do keep any conversations going without her sisters doing the heavy work. She wouldn’t have to worry for long. Her phone shrieked. Buttercup didn’t waste a second,

“Madame Mayor,” Buttercup went silent after the acknowledgement. She unbuckled her seatbelt and took in the information quick.

“Thanks for the ride, Butch.” She floated in the air and dropped the shades,

“Hey, hey! What the hell? Buttercup! Wait I can—!”

“Sorry.” She wasn’t. Her duty came first. It didn’t matter if it ruined the chance to find out if they could have a conversation that ended in something other than sex. She was grateful there hadn’t been an emergency the night before. If Butch really had a hand in it, his magic was dispelled and Buttercup was back on call. He was dust in the wind, a sore thought circling around ‘faster, faster, get there faster!’ It had been ages since there was a Bonafide monster attack. Had it been her recent trip to the Isle to blow off steam?

Racing time was the only challenge.

Quicker. Faster. Farther. Buttercup forced her body beyond capacity, her breath sucked back into her stomach, and eyes barely able to keep open. The hard stop was through the monster’s gut. The designer crp[ top, bloodied and covered in visceral. She caught the creature before its fall into the civilians and buildings below, its insides a shower over her. What was white now a dark red, her skin practically dyed. She dug its fingers in its flesh, her teeth gritted. It was one push into the air then lasers from her eyes. The remains now dust.

There was less chance of guts and intestines dragging over the tone if she evaporated the monster. The poor thing was put out of its misery, it hadn’t gotten a single punch in. Buttercup hated it for it and herself. She shook her head like a dog, all over her coated and pointless to wipe her face on anything. She grinned, it was gross but damn! Was that it? Her heart barely started thumping when it stopped cold. The looks the towns people gave her.

Disgust.  
Doubt.  
Fear.  
Confusion.  
Horror.

Gone were the days they cheered. Buttercup still the monster among them. Firefighters came to spray the streets and clean the mess she made. Never mind her saving their necks. Did they forget what happened when she wasn’t strong enough, fast enough? Buttercup caught the eye of a Townie. Their lips curled and the took a step back. Buttercup stood her ground and spat blood on the ground.

Clean that shit up, she thought bitterly and walked the pavement, bloodied footprints in her wake. The crowd parted. 

Blame Bloss, Buttercup thought cruelly. She’d rather fly away too but apparently it was just a reminder of the destruction their presence might bring. No one thanked her. No one offered her a cloth to clean her face. This was the new ways of the Powerpuff, she was glad her sisters didn’t have to put up with the shame it brought. 

“Miss Utonium?” A voice stuttered and sputtered; in their fear they were still braver than the rest. “Your rent.”

Braver than most, it seemed.

“I,” She didn’t bother with her wallet. There wasn’t money in it. If it had its value dimisned soaked in Monster innards. She got paid Friday, she’d have half the rent ready. The rent would have been paid in full if she hadn’t played Cinderella. Her landlord didn’t look like much would make the difference. It was too much to hope that was just his face with dealing with the stank rolling off her.

Buttercup could handle monsters.

She could handle the town judging her.

Her apartment owner however, unmade her. It wasn’t a blessing to have her close. She was a crime deterrent and the shitty area tended to be a safe heaven for the rats. Why would they bed near the exterminator herself? It shouldn’t matter. But it did. It mattered because she had been able to keep her place by staying afloat. Buttercup had kept her head down and she made it work.

It was not a glamorous life, but it was hers.

Unwanted. 

She lifted her chin from her chest, her eyes burned but tears would not fall. Not here.

“Can I get my things?”

“You can shower too. Be out by ten.”

He was pitying her. Buttercup clenched her fist, pride wounded and stabbed. It was worse than any gash from any monster. She was worthy of a slum lord’s pity. The mighty had fallen, the lowest of the low.

Her nod was jerky and stiff. She lifted into the air, only inches to keep herself from dirtying anything more than she already had. Buttercup showered. She packed the little she had. She changed into a sports bra, hoodie, and yoga pants. It looked no better than she felt. Everything fit neatly in her car except for her bed. She strapped it to the top of her mustang and went back inside. Buttercup sat. The apartment didn’t look much different, she had so little here. She had been careful of her temper to never leave a mark that hadn’t been here before.

This was her home. After every sleepless night and long fight, she could come home and be herself. She didn’t have to keep up a charade, worried what someone thought when she was here. Her privacy. Her normalcy. She lost her home!

Buttercup hugged her knees. There was no reason to stay till ten at night, but she had no place to go. She hadn’t wanted to go at all and there was no place she wanted to drag her feet in with her head held low. All be damned if she told Bubbles or Blossom. The Professor wouldn’t say anything, but she’d know he’d compare her to them. She was the failed experiment. The little girl who didn’t grow up into something perfect or great.

All she had was her stupid apartment. 

“Fuck.” Buttercup slapped her face. Her cheeks stung. She did it every time her eyes burned and her throat closed up. Her resolve weakened, her slaps lighter with every hour that passed. 

At 9:59, Buttercup surrendered her key.

A measly thread kept her in check. A single thread kept her priorities in line. She needed to find a place to live. Tonight she could stay at the yoga studio. She needed the money and it was last minute but Buttercup needed to be selfish. She texted every student with a kind and brief apology.

> _Sorry, I have to cancel tonight again. I can refund or we can schedule another session. As a special thanks and apology, private sessions are allowed!_

She turned off her phone.

Buttercup had parked in the farthest corner of the studio lot, away from the pole light and in the suitable shadow. She didn’t want anyone to see who was in the green mustang with a mattress on top, if they didn’t know already. She didn’t want to talk to anyone as the last thread frayed and fractured. She hugged herself. Her chin dimpled.

The thread snapped.

It was a losing battle, every breath felt like her last. They burned and ached until finally—she sobbed. She didn’t want to hurt anymore and letting the tears out and her cry fall eased the tension coiled tight inside her. She wanted to hit the wheel, to break the landlord’s nose! Buttercup clutched her fists, any movement now would break the last thing she had, her car. Her mattress.

“Fuck you! Fuck this fucking town!” Her fists hit her chest, hard enough to shake the car and bloom a bruise quick after contact. She hit herself again and hoped she might just hit through her chest and rip the feelings out.

Tears were louder than any raging waterfall. She hadn’t heard footsteps and only just heard the tap on her window. Buttercup froze. This was worse than being caught nude.

Brick stared, his red eyes cold. A fire dying but the embers a promise of danger that had once been there.

Buttercup’s chest started, her hand covered her mouth.

“It’s okay.” Brick said fast. He opened her car door and crouched in front of her. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Buttercup had run head first through a monsters stomach. Blood covered her. She heard its last screams and felt life vanish around her. She was a murder. Monster or not. It wasn’t the first time her actions had delt a swift hand of death. No one worried about her. No one called to check in and ask how the fight went.

Of course she was fine.

She was a Powerpuff girl. She was the toughest fighter. She was meant to win, meant to live the high life!

Her mouth flopped, words stolen by the tears that came. She didn’t want to hear herself, “I’m.” Her voice cracked and she mouthed ‘fine.’ Buttercup had never been the one with the brightest smile, this was her finest fake one yet. She had to be fine. If a Powerpuff Girl didn’t have her shit together, what did that say about the rest of the world? The rest of the town that was doing just fine…. What did it say about her? It was just her. 

No air came through, though her breathes were quick. Nothing reached her. The Powerpuff Girls were invincible, yet this was killing her.

“Buttercup.” Brick grabbed her flapping hands trying to fan her face and cool the burn in her eyes. If they were cool, maybe she wouldn’t cry? Maybe she could dry the tears before he noticed. “It’s okay.”

Brick stood and leaned over to hug her. The pressure did something. The tightness funneled the air in. Her face in his neck, he couldn’t see the tears. She didn’t have to think and just had to let herself be held. She could breath. Slowly. She could breathe. 

“Everybody hates me,” Buttercup didn’t know why that had been the first thing she said. Her family loved her. Though their hopes for her, stacked against her their disappointment might as well be hatred, she’d rather be hated than have them express disappointment. 

“Okay.” Brick didn’t argue with her, he ran his fingers through her hair and waited. She had seen Brick loud and hellish. Compared to his brothers possibly, he was quietest Rowdyruff. That was said lightly and in full knowledge Brick was just as warped as his family. His patience had been practiced; his anger management handled as he waited for Buttercup to speak again.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“How about we go inside,” Brick suggested. No one would be there. Buttercup had cancelled, Brick shouldn’t even have been here! She had resigned herself to the lonely night and still committed herself to it. Out of his arms, Buttercup unlatched her bed from the top of the car. Brick took the keys and locked up. He held the doors open for Buttercup and used her keys to unlock the dark studio, lighted only by moon light. Neither of them turned the lights on.

Buttercup dropped the mattress in the center of the room.

“You’re wearing your gear.”

“I got the text when I parked.” Brick turned his hat around to wear it proper, he pulled it down over his face. It cast a shadow to hide a blush from Buttercup.

“You’re here early.” He often was, he helped set up the space. “Sorry, you usually are. Shit, I’m sorry, Brick.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad I’m here. And,” he jostled his phone, “A free private lesson? Sounds like a hefty loss.”

“I didn’t want to lose clients canceling two nights in a row.”

“No one would cancel, Buttercup.” Brick had a strange way of talking. It was gentle as if he knew his words alone could cut into an individual. He was careful but still pointed. There was no room to argue, his word was law and final. It was no wonder Butch hated him. He despised finalaties and rules. Buttercup too usually. Now she could feel the appeal. The burden of defending herself lifted. The hope he was right, her clients still loved her despite missing a class. The hope she wouldn’t be starving in addition to being homeless.

“You look like you could use a stretch.”

“I could use a lot of things,” She unzipped her hoodie and fell onto her back. The bed wasn’t supportive and the springs were broken. Brick made no mention of it. He dropped his hoodie on the floor and twisted his hat backwards. He tossed his and Buttercup’s shoes aside and pressed her thigh down to her chest.

Their eyes locked on one another. Was it kindness or did he selfishly just want a lesson? Buttercup could forgive the reason and opted to give into her own avaricious desire. Someone wanted her around. He cared. He wondered if she was okay and his eyes didn’t bounce away from hers afraid or repulsed. Brick pushed her body to the side, her knee over one leg and up high.

She changed legs. Brick leaned into his push and Buttercup, took in a breath. Sharp. Her cheeks flushed under her puffy eyes still damp from crying. Brick eased back, realization crossing over him. A fresh heat dusted his body and cheeks. He pushed again, mindful of his hips this time. Buttercup bit her lip.

Was it wrong to hope he’d slip up again? 

Yes.

Already she struggled with her moments with his brother. Now with Brick practically between her legs how could she be so eager? Brick leaned on her thigh, it pulled tight with how low he forced her. Low enough for him to connect again.

Desire consumed her, Buttercup made another noise, willingly parting her mouth so he would know—she liked it. Brick held the position. His cock flat against her entrance.

Her day had been such shit, she needed a pick me up. Someone to want her and yes, tell her it was okay. THIS is okay. Someone who wouldn’t look away and be afraid of the monster lurking behind her eyes.

Her face fell, Brick sat up right and relaxed Buttercup’s thigh. He watched her, a vibrancy to his red eyes. A flicker of badness burning inside of him. He scooped her calves up and folded them and he leaned his weight on her again. He held her in place with his abdomen, his hands grabbing Buttercup’s and holding them over her head.

That felt better. It eased her guilt and inspired hope. She rocked into him and his grip tightened. Buttercup spread her legs then clasped them around Brick’s waist. He stayed calmed. Buttercup panted, her chest rising and falling hard.

“I just,” She started. “I just need to feel good. Nothing else.” She didn’t know what was going on with her and Butch. That was probably nothing, she was at his beck and call. When he wanted to fuck, he’d let her know. This was in the now.

Now she wanted to feel good. Brick cared. He felt good against her, was it pity? Her legs loosened and Brick squeezed her wrists and pulled them higher above her head.

“I’m sorry.” She apologized. Was this forcing him? Coercion? 

“You stopped wearing underwear.” Brick said with a hand suddenly on her hip. She had stopped after he’d seen her change, she he hadn’t worn any and wondered if he could tell the difference. She hoped he had when she lay on his back and her bones crack. He hoped she could feel how smooth and flexible she was, that he’d ignore Bubbles, forget Blossom. Green was an ugly colored. It painted her with envy and greed. She was born green; she’d die green.

“Yes.” Buttercup’s voice hitched. He pulled her up and took her place on his back. 

“Legs up,” He said as pulled her to his chest. Their bodies flush for only an instant. Buttercup eased her legs into the air and Brick grabbed her ankles and kept her in C position.

“Do you know what it feels like when you’re like this.” He parted her legs, Buttercup felt herself flutter and clinch. A small muscle inside of her flexing and welcoming. He couldn’t see that right? Brick released her, Buttercup eased back into place. Pausing to be flat over his body then up right and sitting on his abdomen.

“Brick,” She didn’t know how to ask. She didn’t want to lose him as a friend.

“I think you need stress management, Buttercup.” His words might have been lost on her if his hands hadn’t grabbed her thighs, thumbs dipping toward her center.

“Yes,” She nodded. “I need to…. Please?”

“What?” He wasn’t feisty like Butch, he was a constant burn, something to stabilize her chaos and center her focus. Brick was gravity where she and butch were spiraling meteors falling and crashing. What did she need? He had asked; it had to be fine to say. Buttercup looked ahead at the mirrors, they would be the only witness.

“Look at me.” He called. Buttercup looked away from herself, she unzipped her front zipper bra. Brick squeezed her thighs in what she hoped was unbridled need. For a time, Buttercup had thought Brick and Blossom were going to be a thing. But was her sister this open? Buttercup loved her body she just so rarely got to show it and treat it to the things it deserved. … Lace and lingerie.

Hungry eyes.

“Make me feel something.”

“Good,” Brick reminded her. He sat up right and held the small of her back. Buttercup felt his desire forming as a hardened piece in his lap. She hesitated then stole his hat and put it on herself, Brick groaned.

“Fuck, girl.” He bent low and planted her neck and kisses. He wasn’t shy about finding her beasts and mouthing at them. His teeth nipping at the tip. Buttercup fisted his tank top.

“If you like me in your hat, what else would you like to see on me?”

Brick chuckled darkly, he knew exactly what to put Buttercup in. He’d have her wearing him. The photographer she modeled for could eat their heart out.

“You’re sensitive,” Brick commented.

“Hey,” Buttercup snapped and yelped at an additional bite to her breast.

“I like it. Do you relieve stress often?”

“No.”

“I see.” His lips curled into a smirk against her, he lifted them together and brought Buttercup to a standing position. Tonight he was in charge of the class, master at stress relief. He walked her in front of the mirrors and stood behind her. The scene familiar to them both, teacher and student for nearly more than a year. 

This position however, a first. Brick cupped her breasts his smirk growing as Buttercup tried to escape the touch. His body a wall. Unyielding and solid.

“I want you to watch,” Watch? Buttercup repeated lost in his reflection. Brick’s eyes were bright, his smile sharper, and his grip strong. If she wanted to run, Buttercup didn’t know if she could escape him. Buttercup and Butch acted on instinct and knee jerk reactions. Brick was a hunter. He inhaled her scent and she would be prey to the predator. Her heart jumped. Mingling with Butch was sensible, she knew him well enough by knowing herself. 

Brick was fresh territories. A danger. His grin wasn’t the only wicked one in the reflection, high on excitement. This was the leader of the only gang to knock the girls down a peg. He kicked her legs shoulder length apart, his hand wrapped around her throat, thumb and fingers framing the top of her collar bone. His other hand at her hip. He could crush her. Buttercup breathed in the challenge, the greens incensed easily. Her shoulders rolled, ready to duck and buck.

“Stay.” He hissed into her ear and jerked her against his body. A reminder of her place. To her surprise, she behaved. The tilt of his chin was the same when Buttercup told him he mastered a new position during class. He wasn’t surprised, he was satisfied. Together they watched his finger trail up her middle over his hand and to her lips. Buttercup took it in her mouth, Brick swayed their bodies together in reward. Going down he left a wet trail, her nipples turned hard little nubs. Brick made a show of tracing her breasts and ribs. Down, down, down to the band of her pants. 

“Are you wet for me?” He spoke against the back of her neck, almost a threat there would be a price to pay if she wasn’t.

“Yes,” Buttercup took a deep breath squirming when he ran his finger along the seam of the fabric, over her clit and over her nether regions.

“Not enough. I want to feel it here.” He pressed into the fabric and rubbed. Buttercup whined, her stomach rolling and lifting her chest, though she stayed in placed, collared by Brick’s hand. He moved his hand leaving a firey ring where he’d been touching. Both hands explored her body, messaged her breasts, hips, and over her pussy. He pulled her back against him,

“Feel that?”

Buttercup rocked on his third leg, so generously placed between hers. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing! Had he always been this sexy? “Yes, yes!”

“Then get wet for me, Buttercup.” Brick licked the length of her spine. Buttercup braced herself against the mirror looking ready to do a pushup. She’d rather squat on Brick’s face, he kissed her thigh and over her ass. Buttercup eep’d! Brick slapped a cheek.

“Oh. You liked that.”

“Brick please, please.”

“Gotta pass the test, Buttercup.” He collared her with his fist again, his other hand dived between her legs. 

He whispered, “You feel that?”

Please don’t say I’m filthy, Buttercup squeezed her eyes. She pinched her legs together. The pressure of Brick’s fingers passed.

“Hey.” Brick’s word was a command, was this how the Ruff’s felt? Bound by him? Her eyes snapped open, Brick had twisted them to look down on her directly. “What did you just think of?”

At her hesitance Brick’s hand slid up her throat, he caught and held her chin, “This is stress relief, Buttercup. I need to know.”

“I didn’t want you to call me filthy. The town they…”

The town? Brick’s eyes narrowed. His hand fell between her breast giving her that pressure, channeling the air neatly.

“The town doesn’t deserve to see how fucking beautiful you are.” Brick lifted her chin so their eyes could meet in the mirror,

“Do you think I want something dirty?”

“I am. I—I’ve been with someone else—Brick. I’m--.”

Brick slapped her ass, “Hey. You’re with me right now. Stress relief. I want you, Buttercup. For months. Every fucking week. I’ve wanted to see how wet I can make you get. To see you drip.” He growled in her ear,

“You think whatever fuck who took your photograph can make you feel good?” He stepped closer, his knee working her legs back apart.

“You want to see what I can do to you?”

She nodded. She wanted to believe it wasn’t just Butch that could want her, that Brick wasn’t following the apartment owner’s footsteps and pitying her. With a need burning in her, she couldn’t focus easily to pinpoint it for herself. 

“Oh,” Buttercup covered her mouth with both hands, why should she be surprised by her own body? Her clothes were rolled down like a bread maker rolling out his dough. She had the smallest treasure trail, recently groomed warry of Butch’s impromptu photo sessions. Even then she didn’t watch herself open up like a curtain reveal. Her gasp muffled as Brick slipped his hand between the small gap of fabric and her nether region. He swiped his finger between her folds and showed her the mess she made.

Brick licked his finger clean then turned her head and kissed Buttercup easily. He breathed air into her and fanned the fire between her legs.

“Ever watch yourself come, baby?”

Sheepish, Buttercup shook her head. Neither looked away as he hiked a foot up and stepped on her pants and brought them to the floor.

“Fuck,” Brick gasped. Buttercup stood straighter and she too admired herself. Both sets of her lips swollen and eyes dilated. 

“Watch me now,” His hand lay flat on her stomach and eased lower. His middle finger paused over her clit, Brick tapped it like a door bell announcing his intrusion.

“OH,” Buttercup lifted on her tiptoes, Brick’s hand on her neck kept her grounded. 

“Again,” He said against her ear, finger petting the piece in hard smooth strokes. It was like he was rolling up the temperature gauge, making her hotter and hotter.

“Brick, Brick please!” The room was cold against her. The only piece of her hot, her vagina. Her breasts bounced, Brick watched. 

“Look,” he reminded her to watch as his finger disappeared. Buttercup cried in delight. 

“Your so fucking wet, Buttercup. I can just slip right inside you.”

“Yes! Brick, More, please?” He made her beg without showing his hands, Buttercup ought to have been ashamed! 

“You need this?”

“I need you.”

Brick’s grin turned from wicked to hellish, two fingers splayed out inside her his thumb hooked to play the button. Her pleasure heightened, Buttercup lifted on her toes, she’d never been up right like this before. She’d fly away if Brick didn’t chain her against him. His fingers filled her, his grunts encouraged her. 

“Don’t close your eyes, Buttercup. Watch.” 

“I can’t, I can’t.” She panted breathless for the second time that night. Her sanity leaving her, desire driving her. Buttercup rolled her hips driving his fingers into her, harder.

“Watch yourself baby—Look,” How wrong she’d been when she thought every string had snapped. The orgasm Brick had gifted her turned every feeling off except satisfaction. She’d never seen herself squirt before, her pleasure dripping down onto Brick’s waiting hand. The hand at her neck dropped lower to support her and keep her against his chest when her legs betrayed her. Brick brought his fingers back between her folds,

“Ride it out baby.” Buttercup humped his hand, unplugged more of her lust emptied onto his palm. Brick dragged his hand up her stomach, over her breast and back to her chin. She shivered with the layer of paint, and moaned into his lips. 

“Keep kissing me,” One of his hands disappeared between them. Buttercup wrapped both arms around his neck and pressed hard against him. The tip of his cock above at the head of her labia, inches lower she could have him. Buttercup rolled against him, crushing his lips. How wrong it was to be here, she felt bad! Dirty! But so fucking good.

Butch was wild and howled, Brick was muted and gritted. Buttercup opened her eyes as they kissed, Brick was watching her already. 

“Brick,” the way she said his names had his eyes wide. Buttercup stepped back ran her fingers through her hair and posed for him. “How’s this for a picture?”

“Buttercup,” He said through clenched teeth, body jerking as he fisted himself mercilessly.

“How about this?” On her knees in front of his heat, Buttercup looked up. Her eyes a bioluminescent and his ablaze. “Brick.” She purred, almost inviting. Brick took the invitation, intended or not. He had wanted Buttercup to wear him, but painting her throat and covering his handprint in white would have been picture perfect.

He’d pay the photographer any amount to snap this moment. “Beautiful.” Brick breathed and leveled himself with Buttercup. He broke the painted pearls on her throat, dragging his finger through his mess. Buttercup took his finger and licked it clean for him.

“You’ve made me a bad girl, Brick.”

He took his hat back from Buttercup and flinged it across the room. He unleashed his hair from his messy bun and shook his head, “I’ve made you feel fucking fine.” He seized her cheeks and pulled her in for another kiss. Whatever had made her cry, he’d wipe from her memory. He’d beat whatever bastard hurt her into oblivion. Buttercup bit his lip, Brick was out for blood. He launched himself forward and over Buttercup’s body. 

If he fucked her now—she would have no hope. He wouldn’t rest. Buttercup thought she was bad? What did she have a boyfriend and he was to be a one nightstand? Right now, he could let that pass. He agreed to be a stress relief. But like a shark, if he tasted blood, if he tasted her—he’d go mad.

Brick was obsessive. 

Boomer was clueless. Butch careless. Brick was compulsive. Every heist was by his design. His need to have something simply because he’d gotten it in his head: ‘that should be mine.’

Buttercup pulled his hair as he showered her body with kisses and desire. He could have her now. He could change the night right now--! But she was desperate and fuck it all, if so wasn’t he.

Brick wasn’t blind, Buttercup wouldn’t easily be kept. He needed to even his playing field. He’d had to break the legs of his competition and sweep Buttercup off her feet. Half demon, half champion, all Ruff. The girls left the Ruffs alone because they had been well behaved. Their track record implied change, when reality they had only found new outlets to pursue and means to fly under their radar. Brick played their game but made up his own rules.

Buttercup was breathless. Brick had given her a chance to breathe and brought them both to her mattress. He pulled her to his chest and kept an arm around her. It would have been perfect if it wasn’t for the circumstances. 

With silence, came truth.

“I lost my apartment.” Buttercup hated the sound of her own voice and hated she needed the gentle pull closer to his chest. Someone wanted her.

“You can stay at my place,” even if she could see his face Buttercup wouldn’t be able to tell if her felt forced to give her the offer. Brick was unreadable. His voice gave nothing away.

“No.” She didn’t say it out of hatred for him, only for herself. She couldn’t take his pity or let his turn into a pity fuck.

“I’ll stay here with you tonight. That was the plan right? You were going to spend the night here?”

“Why?”

“What? Stay? I want to.” 

Buttercup would take it. She didn’t want to be alone tonight, like every other night. They slipped into hoodies and went to the showers. Buttercup zipped down out the window and to her car too fast for any camera to catch. She didn’t have much but she had an old oversized pair of sweats she lent to Brick. Buttercup didn’t bother with a bra, only underwear, leggings and a zipup hoodie. She laid a sheet over the mattress, two pillows was all she had, and a light knitted blanket. It was uneven and unraveling. She explained Bubbles was always trying knew things, Buttercup had loved the gift none the less, and Blossom wore her knitted scarf every winter.

On their bellies Buttercup rested her phone against Brick’s water bottle. They watched youtube,they talked.

A message popped up on her screen from “Bitch Better have my money.” It read,

> _Cme get ur dress 👗_

Buttercup swiped it away. Body tense. Cheeks red. Brick never asked. But buttercup could swear the temperature was hotter around him.

  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said. This fic is an AU of another fic I have been working on. It’s everything I want in that fic ( a slow burn) but just on demand. I had planned to make Brick and Buttercup freaky in this chapter – I had NOT planned to learn Brick is a totes dom and has his sight set on Buttercup. I’m excited for the drama this’ll create.
> 
> So….How are we feeling green fans? TRUST ME. I’M FEELING IT TOO. But I think….The drama that’ll come from this is going to be /chefs kiss perfect.
> 
> Lastly, I know I always say please comment. And I truly do mean it and appreciate it. My confidence has hit an all time low. Thanks Covid, I have a new job and it’s crazy times. I hope everyone is staying safe and doing well!
> 
> But yeah…I hope everyone enjoyed the sexy drama.
> 
> I’m also thinking about a holiday fic because I am a fucking sucker for Christmas specials lolol.
> 
> PS I don’t have a beta or patience to properly edit myself.  
>   
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> Also I'm on tumblr: [diedieri](https://diedieri.tumblr.com/)  
> On pillowfort: [Manas-Moment](https://www.pillowfort.social/Manas-Moment)  
> Please feel free to leave comments/tags/reblogs there as well!
> 
> Shout out to the folks reblogging on tumblr. Thank you, i see you and I am so thankful!!! 
> 
> I also have a twitter… I post a lot of like daily stuff not just writing…I’ve been thinking about making a twitter just for writing life though. Would anybody be interested in that?


	5. Cherry Chapstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nothing had changed below or above. The air ripped through her cells like she deserved punishment. Buttercup stared at the water. Her super vision did nothing. All she could do was wait, wait….wait. She could hope to feel a response. She had sent a message; no one cared to respond._
> 
> __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder I do not have a beta, also please be sure to check out the art I had commissioned by the amazing artist sxnalien—link and a teaser at the end. I am absolutely blown away! Note: I'll link out once I get the okay for the teaser and they get their post up♡♡♡♡  
>   
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> 

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_Lie in Lime  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Five:  
Cherry Chapstick  
_

Routine keeps your life on track. When your alarm fails; when you don’t want to do anything but your body knows it should. Routine was not insanity but the gravity of hope that things won’t get any worse. Buttercup had fallen out of Earth’s gravity. She’d been hurdling and imploding. It was not routine that saved her, those ties had been severed. Routine was never a warm chest and fingers under fabric tracing her shoulder blade. Routine wasn’t the gentle rise and fall of another’s chest.

This wasn’t stress relief. Buttercup couldn’t name the feeling, as if it purposely pulled away. It wasn’t meant for her tongue or DNA. It ran, ran, and ran. 

“You have a gym class today,” Brick wasn’t asking though that didn’t mean there wasn’t a question in his voice. It was odd for him to ask so indirectly. Everything about the morning was odd, though comfortable. It wasn’t just the gym that urged them to wake. Some of it was routine. The remaining was the understanding this studio was not Buttercup’s alone. She might be barred from it if caught squatting. That’s what she was now. Homeless.

Buttercup didn’t bear all her shame for Brick to see. Fear was still a stranglehold on her. Buttercup didn’t know how to feel with her throat tight and eyes hot. Her body was malfunctioning. She didn’t need Brick knowing any more than he already did. However, he was not a silent partner, nor one to wait. Buttercup would have pussyfooted around it for hours, whereas Brick had directly said,

“I’ll keep your mattress and anything you like until you find a place.” He said it with some bitterness, he’d offered his second room to her and she had stiffly declined. She could handle this herself. But she would accept this kindness, she’d accept it to keep her bed that had given her a home for so long. A simple thing and pathetic, most would toss it to the curb: out with the old and in with the new. Whenever the new came, Buttercup didn’t know how much would come with it. A new place was a must, she hardly been able to fill her last one, she didn’t want the new one barer than the last.

“Thanks.” Buttercup offered shortly, her thoughts cutting her words. Brick pressed his hand to her back, up through the bottom of her hoodie and warm across her skin. 

Brick wouldn’t say he could sympathize. He and the boys had been homeless. They’d been between makeshift fathers, under the boots of man, and the gum on the ground. Together—they were known. Their unbreakable bond abandoned in hopes of being something more than shit. They still had each other’s backs if they needed help. Though like the girls, they had continued to grow. A fool wouldn’t even spit in their direction. Apart they each had done a little more for themselves, what that was for his brothers, Brick didn’t know. If Boomer and Butch weren’t in a gutter, in jail, or on the news they too were a success. 

“Brick? What is this.” She hadn’t been able to ask Butch. Talking with Butch should have been easy, at times it was talking with herself. Their humor aligned and their stubbornness was unparalleled. This new Butch was unknown. He was like the parts of herself she struggled to understand. Asking was risking breaking too much and Buttercup had too little of anything to risk ruining something.

“It is comfortable.” Brick said easily. Talking with Brick wasn’t without his challenges. He was straight forward and cutthroat. He, like Butch, rather cut the bullshit. But Brick thought ahead, he was aware of his actions and what their consequences could be, he was thinking too far ahead where Buttercup hadn’t even bothered to look.

“It does not have to be anything right now.” His hand moved down her back, his finger trailing her spine like he’d done it a thousand times. Brick pushed the small of her back and brought her body closer to his.

“You are going through some shit. With someone and with life?”

“I don’t even know,” Buttercup’s laugh lifeless and small. Her hand ran along Brick’s peck. She hadn’t woken with Butch like this. They kept their distance. She hadn’t taken Brick for a cuddler but the entire night he was touching her. He rubbed her back, their arms settled against one another Brick took to taping her shoulder and pointed at the phone when something interesting came on screen. He was present and he was gravity again. He was air in her lungs and a moment of pause. He’d been here for an entire year. Every stretch and stolen look, Buttercup had been nothing but want. Her blood saturated in need and focus always somewhere else, she hadn’t noticed a similar desire in his eyes.

Butch had been the first to light the match. He burned Buttercup and her interests divided. It wasn’t the first time he had drawn her favor. Maybe it was just routine calling her name to chase the lines he left for her.

“I don’t want to lose what we have either.” Buttercup confessed with a murmur, stolen looks were oddly filling.

“Buttercup,” Brick lifted her chin, “you could have given your soul to someone else. Blinded yourself for their comfort.” His eyes rimmed in red. Jealousy coded in his veins. “And I would still take you. Make you a bad girl.” The hand on her back skirted over her ass. 

Bad.

It felt very good to hear Brick say she was _bad_.

“Even if I was maybe liking someone else?” She asked without much ground to stand on.

“Like whoever you want, Buttercup. I don’t need you to like me.” 

What did that mean? It pulled at her gut and tugged her words to her stomach, any retort swallowed. She didn’t want to fight it. She wanted the freedom to fuck up and make the wrong choice. Brick’s hand cupped her cheek.

This was the wrong choice. What a life he must live to be living the wrong choice. To welcome bad decisions. 

“I don’t know what I want with you.” Buttercup didn’t know if she wanted something with Butch either. If she was struck down at this moment, she felt she’d haunt Butch. He owed her a debt, he needed to answer her questions.

“I do.” He pulled her body ontop of his. He was already hard and she,

“Brick-!” Buttercup gasped, his hand without hesitance slipped into her legs and touched the bed of her panties. She was wet. His words alone had sprung want. Maybe it had been his body…or it could have been that look in his eyes.

“I looked up the schedule. We have thirty minutes.” Brick presented his phone as evidence. He’d even given them a healthy buffer. “I just want to see you again before we go get coffee before your class.”

See me? Buttercup blushed and sat up right on his pelvis. Brick’s hair spread out like a firey mess. He had one hand on her thigh and the other clutching his phone. She looked at herself in the mirror and watched as she removed her hoodie, naked. Breasts full and nipples pert.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” She said it as a joke when his eyes hadn’t left her body. He smirked and did just that. Then took another of his hand in between her breasts. 

“That photographer can eat his heart out,” He scoffed. Buttercup shivered. The rivalry present even without their knowledge. She wanted to see what other pictures Butch might take of her. He’d been so eager for the contest, would they have anything without it?

“You thinking about your jackass?”

“Yes,” Buttercup said in a heavy breath. 

“C’mere, beautiful.” 

She stood and stepped out of her leggings.

“I don’t want to be bad, Brick.”

“Then keep thinking about home boy, huh? You can try.” He grasped her fingers and pulled her back to the mattress; Buttercup straddled his face with an apology on her lips. Brick didn’t hear it. He craned his neck up between her thighs and licked at the thin panty already damp. He squeezed her hand when she jerked on instinct.

“Keep thinking about him, baby. I dare ‘ya,” Brick pulled her panty to the side and ran his tongue between her folds. Her vagina slick. Buttercup lost her balance and sat on his face. She had never been more aware of her heart rate and how it pounded between her legs, around Brick’s tongue. 

Butch had licked her clean under water. He tasted her insides and he’d been close to fucking her. She moaned, but Brick! He breathed her in. He pulsated inside her. She was being fucked already. His tongue invading and hungry. She bounced,

“Hey.” Brick hissed and held her above his mouth, “Take a picture.”

Buttercup didn’t question it. He passed her his phone unlocked with his camera app already open. Only she didn’t take a picture. Whatever possessed her encouraged a video. 

“Oh god, Brick.” Buttercup rocked onto his tongue. The tips of her breasts bobbed in and out of frame. “Oh god,” Buttercup screamed, a heat boiled between her legs, a flame came from his mouth and burning her panties. Smoke came from his nose like a dragon and he looked at her like a treasure.

His claws dug into her thighs, “Thinking of him, beautiful?”

He lapped at her pearl, no. Only him! Her blood pumped his name: Brick! She wanted so much more. His kisses to her under lips were fire and passion. He sucked her clit and begun to finger her. 

“Brick,” She panted. His kiss had been the air gifted to her lungs when she couldn’t breathe, now she was breathless again, paying it forward. 

“I’m gonna—” She began and yelped when he bit her.

“Did I say you can come?”

He watched her through the lens of the camera as his tongue traced her bulging clit, the little hood entirely swollen and exposed. Slow. Slow. Painful circles. Her breathes slowed to his movements and their eyes locked.

Brick licked his lips. He reached for his phone and turned it on Buttercup,

“Think of me the next time you come. Even you’re a bad girl, you’ll be my good girl.”

“The fuck,” Buttercup shuddered as he sat them both up. In his lap his cock was sprung against his sweats. “You can’t be serious, I thought we were going to?”

“I don’t want you to leave too satisfied. I want you thinking about me, Buttercup. How hard I could have made you come with just my tongue.” He rubbed her breasts as he spoke, she scooted closer and sat on him completely. Another dare.

Brick stalled. He kept his composure with her pussy barely cloaked from the head of his cock.

“Bad girl,” He whispered, his voice shuddered. “Do you need me that badly?”

I don’t need anything, instinct hissed. Her body was a traitor, “yes.” She whimpered. Brick petted her nipples, he pulled himself from the band of his sweats. Beads of precum dripped out and along a vein. He held himself and touched it against Buttercup’s clit.

“The next time you want me. You are going to send me a video showing me.” Brick paused and caught her chin, “Understand?”

No one gave her orders. But his words were a pill, an addictive powder, and heavy smoke. She couldn’t think right and it only made sense to tell him, “yes.” He laid his palm over her sternum. 

“I’m going to break you.”

-x-

Buttercup opened her eyes. Not everything had been a dream. Her head was on Brick’s chest, his hand under her shirt and on her back, and between her legs there was a distinct pulse. A need driving her to turn dreams into reality. No one had ever complained that Buttercup snored however there was the occasional story of her talking in her sleep, sometimes fighting. Never before had Buttercup had a sex dream near someone else, never before had there been one so vivid. 

“We should go,” Buttercup suggested less sternly than normally she would have demanded.

“We have time,”

“Thirty minutes.” Buttercup agreed, yes, plenty of time to get in to trouble, to give her more to think about when she didn’t even know where she was sleeping tonight.

“How did you know?” Brick smirked, it might have been more near a smile. She shrugged off the question letting him assume it was lucky unless he knew it was something else. Hadn’t HIM been a master of dreams and imagination? The Ruffs were his strongest creations, it wouldn’t come as a surprise if he hadn’t gifted them some of his finer talents.

Brick searched her face, he didn’t ask why she was staring. It was a look of assessment. The boys were used to it, Buttercup too. It was a paradox, the Ruffs being something other than nasty and ill-will-ridden. She was looking for the cracks, the truths. She wanted something to hate to quell the desire.

“Hey. How about we get coffee before you head to the gym? I can show you some of the pictures I was telling you about.” Exhaustion had been the leading culprit in Buttercup’s honesty. Exhaustion and rock bottom. She wouldn’t stay at Brick’s place (yet). Buttercup had two weeks to find a place of her own, he’d help. If nothing turned up she could have the empty room. Gone often for traveling and work, it was like having the place to herself. She’d pay rent. The same as her budget would allow. She hadn’t told Brick the details of her bank account. Her pride already wounded and bruised, Brick didn’t push her for exact dollar amounts.

Brick bought their cups and carried them to the table Buttercup had snagged. Everything she had assumed about the Ruffs was yet again crushed. She had expected Butch to live in the wild and Brick to live in the bougie downtown area. Yet Butch was in the heart of the hippest place in town and Brick was in the middle of nowhere. 

He bought land and had his place built. 

“Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

“I invest in myself.” The money to fund that endeavor was politely undiscussed. There were some cabins and cottages nearby. He was friends with the owners, yes really. They’d gone hunting together and Brick learned to shoot his first gun. They had small get-togethers every other month. 

“Fucking gross, right?” He laughed and drank his coffee. It was the simple life he had once tried so hard to destroy and disrupt. They were quiet neighbors a mile away. Neighbors who mostly kept to themselves and asked Brick for impossible tasks once they learned he was a super. He enjoyed it, demolishing buildings for them to build something fresh.

Buttercup gasped at the view,

“They make their living renting out cabins and shit. They maintain the trails themselves.”

“You really live all the way out there?”

“Privacy.”

“What about the drive?”

“When I drive,” Brick huffed the word, “It’s fast. Country roads. If there is a cop, they probably know me.”

“Brick Badass. Buddy-buddy with the law?”

“Fuck no. They know me,” His smile was sharp and wild. The community was small and Brick unforgettable. He did not go through the same lengths to hide his name as his brother did. He was always himself with the except of his ‘Bright McMillions’ persona. It was just a pen name. He couldn’t be taken seriously as ‘Brick Badass.’ They used his picture in the paper, he posted selfies on his blog. The only medium he hadn’t gotten into was live streaming or vlogging—He didn’t have the personality for it, Butch and Boomer more entertaining than himself.

“I’ll get you back for the coffee.” Buttercup made a point of mentioning. She counted dollars like others monitored likes. She kept score, tallied, and refused to keep in someone’s debt: even a penny. They walked one another back to their cars, Brick followed Buttercup to hers.

“I was thinking we could not count yesterday as my private lesson.” Brick framed Buttercup against her mustang, hands on either side of her head, with his coffee held carefully. He slotted his legs between her knees. “I’m talking an actual lesson.”

“Yeah,” Her voice was more solid than her heart, bouncing and racing. Falling apart. There had been something sexy knowing Brick was wearing nothing under the sweats Buttercup had let him borrow. She still wasn’t wearing a bra. To know sexy secrets, was to wonder and hope for sexy possibilities. A simple rib. A slip of the fabric and such fun could be had. 

Brick leaned in, his eyes glowed red. A fire on his smile.

Did he plant that dream in her? 

Brick burned her oxygen away and press his pelvis against her hips. It wasn’t the coffee waking her up or shaking the dread of the prior day away. He tugged at her zipper and whispered,

“I want to see you outside of yoga class.”

Brick pressed his chest against Buttercup’s when her hoodie was undone. He was the brickwall keeping her from being exposed. Her pussy pulsated, could he feel that too?

“I’ll be waiting Buttercup.” Brick took the edges of her hoodie and stepped back to look at her in the nude under the sunlight. She was beautiful in every light, from every angle. He’d burn the bastard that made her cried, who put her in that position. If he wasn’t careful, she just might catch fire under his gaze.

“Call me when you want to be bad.”

“What about for the private lesson?”

“Text.” He zipped her up. 

-x-

“You never call.”

“It’s not worth my time,” He held the word so long, long enough to pain him even more. He hated calling. The moment she saw the number Buttercup didn’t hesitate. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t found a single apartment within her budget, if she was hungry and her wallet was ruined with monster gunk.  
“I am very busy, Buttercup! Our designation pings has proven adequate.”

“A little late to tell me how great it is, Dex.” 

“Alas. This is why I do not CALL.” 

“What’s up Dexter?”

“Go into the subway station, the first bathroom inside the turnstiles. Use it.”

“I don’t have a card, Dex.”

“Did I say swipe your card? Hold your phone over the reader.” The web of entrances and exits to Dexter’s underground laboratory was unknown even to the most knowledge and privileged of persons. Buttercup liked to think she was starting to see more of the iceberg, but Dexter kept her doubts intact.

“An in-person call?” Buttercup wouldn’t consider herself sociable, but she at least had respect for people. Dexter had very little of either. He did not like to waste time, words, or the breath on most things that were not part of his created world. Buttercup had the strange honor of being a person of respect.

“Ah, Buttercup.” Dexter wasn’t a tall man. He was lean and his read hair slicked back without a single strand flying away. He shook her hand. “This I’m afraid we will not be reporting to the authorities.” His conversation were one sided and in pieces. Parts of the conversation he had in his head and you were lucky to follow along.

“Computer. Show Ms. Utonium the oceanic seismic activity.” Around them appeared a screen seemingly out of thin air. She had seen it before, but never enough to dull the grandeur of Dexter’s Lab. “There has been an uptick in monster activity. This worries me, this—something deep rises to the surface?”

“You don’t think I can handle it?”

“You can but what about tomorrow Buttercup, what if?!” Dexter did not care for people but he CARED helplessly for them. The Professor refused to recreate any more girls; everyone breathed a sigh of relief after the latest born batch had been the boys. No one wanted to risk it, except Dexter of course—but he wanted something better. More reliable and controllable than chemical-x. Robots were a tricky thing, Buttercup suspected she wasn’t the best model for Dexter to base his findings from. He refused letting either of her sisters in on the plan. His experiments were a gamble. When in doubt, bet on green.

Fearful of being shutdown, most of his activities remained strictly below board and underground. For Buttercup, Dexter presented good fights. She got to pulverize his machines while he collected data. They also had another deal, another strictly off record.

“Hey Dex since I’m here,”

“Not now woman, are you looking? Look! See! That activity!” They were lines on a screen, a rippling in the water.

“Things have been strange. First this. The strange gravitational changes. I’m sorry, does the fate of the world BORE you?” Dexter asked her back. Buttercup opened cabinets looking for the little glass vile labeled with a simple AX.

“Now is not the time for your shenanigans. You need to be on the coast, watching.”

“What?” When it comes up, buzz me, I’ll kick it back to Earth’s core.”

“Earth’s core. Listen!” Dexter swipped at the vile, Buttercup didn’t need to float up to hold it over his head; she did anyways. “The speed at which that monster is emerging is astronomical. Then it dives again. You need to be ready when it gets sick of playing its little games. Our feed might not be quick enough. You need to be there twenty-four—.”

“I have a job, Dexter. I can’t play knight’s watch. What is this anyway? Why would a monster be beaching itself now?”

“It’s the gravity! The pull! The something!” He tossed his gloved hands in the air, unsure and frustrated with his lack of knowledge.

“Ask your boyfriend, Mani. He’s still shady as fuck, right?” Dexter’s long-time boyfriend, Mandark, kept him in business. Buttercup thought part of it had to be a scheme, which would only be Mandark’s grand idea. Dexter only cared about the puzzle. He built security systems all over the world, Mandark loved to break them, and Dexter to lock him out. They were an impossible couple to have over for dinner, Blossom had tried to pull Mandark to the bright side and had entirely lost her footing by calling him Susan. 

It was best dinner Buttercup had ever been to, and the worst Blossom had ever put on.

“Mani and I do not talk work, Ms. Utonium” Dexter folded his arms.

“Ask Mr. Dark if he’s up to some bullshit, don’t ask details. I’m taking the vile.”

“I am not prepared for your funeral, you idiot!”

Dexter’s slights were less directed and more endearing. She rolled her eyes and focused back on the screen. “You know my schedule. Keep watch then, otherwise I can make camp at the coast.”

“Make camp? Woman. Do you know how to camp? There are bears. Wolves. There is the matter of food,” He stopped, Buttercup flexed. She didn’t have to worry about bears or wolves, “You are not like your sister. You cannot speak with animals.” He reminded with a huff.

“Do you have camping gear?”

“No.”

“I will provide you with adequate means.”

“You camp.” It was far from a question and more of a deadpan, disbelieving question. Dexter was many things but a rugged outdoor woodsmen? Never.

“Absurd! It was a gift from DeeDee for Mandark and I to do something,” He waved his hands, the thought so far back he’d forgotten the word for it. 

“Hook me up, Dex.”

Dexter hadn’t failed her; Deedee once again came in clutch. The tent was large enough for three comfortably, a blow-up bed, and several blankets. He’d sent Buttercup with a grill and chair to complete the set. Most important, he said, was the radio. Battery operated. Her cellphone might fail with reception deep in the woods. He’d broadcast on AM if he needed to get her a message. 

_What about if I need to reach you?_

_If you needed to reach me? Your corpse in the monster’s teeth will be enough._

Accepting the gifts as a mission was a pill she could swallow rather than thinking this was home now on the edge of a cliff watching the water. There were stars above her head—not random specs of white, but a painting of colors and a generous dusting of otherworldly lights. She had showered at the gym before and washed clothes in a sink. Now the ocean would be her basin, her dryer a line tied between trees.

This wasn’t the end. It was a set back Buttercup had been preparing for. She’d live. She’d survive and save the town. It was easiest to keep her Mustang parked at the studio, management was aware and it kept Buttercup free of a ticket. The police force would actually ticket her to. Officer Brickowski would slap a boot on her car and make her march into the precinct to accept a ticket she’d never be able to pay with a car she should have never gotten even if it had been on her dime. The gas certainly was. Sometimes despite the assurance her car would be fine, the doubt came in. She parked it off the edge of the highway and near a trail the barely reached halfway into the woods.

“Hey fucker, hurry it up would ‘ya?” Buttercup urged out of obligation and tightened the blanket around herself. The small fire wasn’t enough to keep her warm. The nights had been getting colder. The studio should have been freezing with only a thin blanket, it would have been without her company that night. Her room had even been warmer with its old radiator heating. 

“Hurry up.” Buttercup didn’t mean it. Not entirely. She didn’t have cell service this far away from the town. No one considered this far deep, deeper than Fuzzy’s place, part of Townsville. It was the closet you could get to Monster Island without leaving land. 

She didn’t miss any of it. The cars. The yelling. The people. Her fucking it up by helping. She didn’t miss the lights out here in the dark. Buttercup couldn’t look away from the stars. The girls could survive in space, but not for long. Not forever. What if she camped here? On ground, near the water with the heavens reflected? This could be her forever home. 

A tent on a cliff waiting for the kraken to emerge. Three days in, eyes on the stars, tea in hand, and popcorn on the fire Buttercup had been ready to laugh in Dexter’s face. To call him a liar and wrong. Then she felt it. Space sucking her in. Her chest lifting and her body compressing. An unknown string pulling its puppet up. 

Buttercup might have drifted had another puppet not been pulled. Her legs shook and the fire snuffed itself out. The stars in the water were wrinkled out of existence. Buttercup dived.

Seeing under water was not like seeing in the dark. The moon didn’t reach far enough, she doubted the sun would guide her much further. 

In the deep, there was nothing. Her lungs were desperate for air, Buttercup stopped swimming. This wasn’t her thinking about the need for her lungs to inflate; she wasn’t thinking about the soul crushing pressure or even a sliver of air would be enough. She stilled on instinct. The greens weren’t all fist throwing, though the mostly that’s what she was. Sometimes their expertise came from knowing the exact moment to stop. They were inexplicable and irrational.

Arguable, there wasn’t much rationally in the dark blue depth of the ocean. She floated in the vastness of nothing. There was some movement, the ripples that reached her were weak and hardly an echo from the threat that made them. The threat still creeping its way to the surface. Buttercup swam down, at least it felt downlike. It was away from the pull, against every sensibility telling her up was air. Her movements were slow, the weight of the ocean around her. Buttercup drew back a fist. The unmistakable pull of a punch, mistaken for weakeness in its languid thrust. The water around her parted and heaved forward, she rode the kick back to the surface. 

Nothing had changed below or above. The air ripped through her cells like she deserved punishment. Buttercup stared at the water. Her super vision did nothing. All she could do was wait, wait….wait. She could hope to feel a response. She had sent a message; no one cared to respond.

The pull came again hours later, the tremors soon followed.

The stars were her witness, Buttercup tried to sleep. But the pull came soon after she’d begun to drift. She had nearly ripped the tent apart the first few times trying to catch the invisible force. Soon she gave up. The tent came to be home to the items she didn’t want kept in her car or with Brick. Buttercup laid under the stars. She waited.

Buttercup dived again without any way to measure if the kraken had been near her, had seen these waters before, or if she managed to dive any deeper. There were no sharks or monsters and even the fish seemed to keep their distance. If she had wanted to drag Bubbles into the depth, there wouldn’t even be a school for her sister to question. Buttercup was alone. 

She was tired…

She was completely hooked. 

This was going to be BIG. This was going to be WORTH her attention. Despite the lack of oxygen and sleep, she could feel a change brewing. Was it swimming deep? Had this taken her training up a notch? Damn if she didn’t want to try it out. Buttercup kicked the water and sent more ripples in the opposite direction: _come and get me, bastard_.

Brick was the first to ask. 

“Do you need a place to sleep?”

“No,” She had managed to catch cat naps at the gym and studio.  
Brick offered his couch and her own mattress. 

“You need sleep,” it was the kind way of saying she looked like shit. He was politely offering a clue without using his cutthroat tongue. A part of Buttercup wondered if his silence wouldn’t slowly gag and choke him.

“I promise, soon. I’m actually on a mission.”

“A mission?”

“Yeah asshole, stop with the face,” Buttercup punched Brick’s shoulder and couldn’t stop her smile as he hid his own behind the bill of his cap. “I promise, after it’s over we can look more into finding me a place.”

“We?” Brick pocketed his hands deep in the back of his burgundy hoodie. He wasn’t smiling, but Buttercup didn’t need to see a smile to hear it. “Well, I’ve already been looking you lazy ass.” He clucked his tongue and laid out the yoga mats. Nothing had changed between them, not exactly. Buttercup had definitely stopped wearing cotton underwear under her yoga pants and their stretches all felt like a double entrande. Not once did she feel uncomfortable or exposed. It was still all very professional. Until he winked, or sometimes dared to whisper something in her ear when Bubbles wasn’t around. He was still interested! He just wasn’t a jackass about it with her job. 

When did a Ruff get to be so thoughtful?

Two weeks into her campout-steakout, Brick said he had something in mind. She had been in the middle of town reading the text. Just after her stint at the gym, he asked if she’d be interesting in hearing about it and meeting up soon. Her phone flashed and she typed,

The world moved. 

Only Buttercup lost her footing. Only Buttercup had lost her breath and been lifted inches off the ground like a fishline had hooked and jerked her to the surface. Never so far from the coast had the pull taken her.

“Shit.” Buttercup pressed send just to get it off screen and answer Dexter’s call, “I know.” She barked. No one had noticed. Only Dexter and his machines would be aware, but even they wouldn’t panic. Buttercup wouldn’t call herself panicked either. This was ready, it was the breath before breathing “finally.”

The pull hadn’t left when the tremors vanished. It was like flying in the ocean. Part of her was floating up, a natural lift of her body while Buttercup gave it the finger and fought herself to dive deeper. Her toes nearly scrapped the asphalt. Buttercup had never flown so low before. The Town’s People hissed as she rushed above their heads, around their legs, scaring pets, dodging dropped coffees. Dresses lifted in gusts of wind. They hated her.

Buttercup didn’t care. She was looking for another ripple. It had reached beyond the water and to concrete ground, the idiots too simple to notice. 

At her campsite, she thought the pull would be unreasonable, that she might be stolen and spirited away to another world. Really it hadn’t felt any different. It had always been the same, even in town. How could she have ever noticed working and slamming her fists all the time? How could she focus with the town always alive? There was nothing here, only the stars, the ocean, the trees, and

Buttercup turned on the radio and set it to Dexter’s station: 58.

The French song suddenly cut out, “Buttercup. It’s subtle but constant. If you’re there, stay. I am calling to cancel your class.” The music cut back in and out again after thirty minutes, the same message repeated. 

The music faded into the forest swallowed by the sounds of crashing waves, the water more restless than ever. Buttercup watched over the edge of the cliff, her fists tight and clenched.

It didn’t matter she’d been without a solid rest. The exhaustion melted off her body replaced with a tightly spun tension. It turned and turned, tuning all of her to the ocean. Zoning in. Focusing. Readying.

Buttercup dug her feet into the ground, all of her shaking with the cliff. The water suddenly boiling. Dexter wouldn’t want the creature to see the light of day but Buttercup couldn’t win if she suffocated. Like in space, she could last for so long. The less energy she used, the longer she could simply exist. But this was a fight. All engines were set to hyper drive. None of this was strategic, it was instinct whispering: wait. Wait for it. Wait.

Blossom would bitch when Buttercup missed the cue. Blossom said on three—Buttercup went on six. Blossom said in five—Buttercup had already shot off headfirst before she finished the plan. It wasn’t a listening problem. She hadn’t been rebelling. It was acting. Doing. Striking because it had felt like the right second to go wild without second thoughts. To move without thinking. 

The sun was falling, the water was ablaze in its reflection. Then came the shadow. Not from a cloud crossing the sky but a demon breaking free from hell below. Erupting out of the water like a volcano, instead of carrying lava and ash it bore the wails of a beast, a head breaching the surface with wild tentacles. Buttercup shot at it like a bullet from a gun. A crazed tentacle flopped and its beak screeched as if it were a wayward banshee. Buttercup plucked the appendage from its free fall and hurled it toward the sea creature like a baseball bat; she went for a home run.

There was some regard of respect for the beast, it barely bucked to the right. Buttercup dropped the limb with a splash. The tentacle too heavy to swing and still wriggling with too much life. The kraken stared with milky eyes, both blue and white. All of its body translucent, then suddenly—gone!

“Fuck!” Buttercup flew true and shot at where the monster had been. The instant her body crashed into the frigid water, she knew a mistake had been made. In the air she was the law. Even if the creature had been unseen she could follow the ripples. The need to attack, to win quick and fast had oven ridden her sense and now a sluggy hand squeezed the lesson into her.

In the water, her kicks were languid and delayed. Her thrashing was muted and weak. Buttercup’s bearings were lost. The creature remained invisible as it shook her and beat her body against the cliff. Over, over, and over her back cracked rock and stone.

The pain was easy to ignore; it was her lungs that were the problem. Burning. Pleading. Breathe! Without any target in sight Buttercup fired the lasers. They weren’t strong in the water, the damage was minimal and barely enough to rattle the captor. 

Buttercup stilled in its grasp and soon too did the creature. Sensitive to all light and movement, it couldn’t feel the same life in her. Her breathing stopped and its cloaking dropped. Eyes closed she couldn’t see how close it had come or how large it was. Its eye were larger than her body. It’s beak twice the size. She didn’t have to see it to feel the pressure or feel that familiar pull from above.

The water moved, sudden and strong. 

NOW.

Buttercup snapped to action. A burst of energy through her eyes, she couldn’t help her bright vivid grin. The creature recoiled and shieled its eyes from the light. Buttercup rushed for the surface. Barely breaching it, the creature raced after her desperate to keep her near its element. 

“No!” Buttercup reached, “NO!” A tentacle wrapped around her ankles, then another around her shoulder and over her chest.

Buttercup screamed. Sharp. A stolen scream so few ripped from her. She didn’t recognize her own voice, maybe she would have missed if it wasn’t the only sound bouncing of the cliff and into the forest. 

Its suckers opened up, teeth bared and bore down into her flesh. Crushing and crunching bone. Her fingers dug deep into its rubbery skin toward a pink-blue vein. Her arms shook. Another tendril wrapped around her waist.

The pressure was worse than the water. Its teeth sunk into her calves and abdomen. Buttercup couldn’t fly toward the stars. There was no pull from above, only the wet from the ocean sucking her under. The pressure of an anaconda crushing the life out of her. Hot rays fired before she was taken below again and stopped a tendril from laying over her head.

“Fuck you!” Buttercup growled and clawed at the skin. It’s teeth dug into her breast. This time her scream was drowned by water. 

She trashed.  
She clawed.

She closed her mouth but the damage was done.

Farther and farther down—she was drowning. There was no air in her lungs. Her body couldn’t keep up. How did it heal? How did it save her? Her muscles stayed taught, the only defense and wall from being crushed. 

Breathe.

Buttercup tried. It wasn’t pointless if she couldn’t breathe.

Where would the air go if her lungs were popped from the pressure?

A light came from above and the water rolled away from her. For only a moment Buttercup thought this is what it was to see the light. It would be an inglorious death. Anticlimactic. After all these years it would be her crushed under the weight of water and the thick hand of a monster.

Was it relief or air she felt? The creatures hold shook from the light, it squawked when Buttercup was cut free from its grip and another appendage floated down toward the dark abyss.

Out of the water and on the edge of the cliff, Butch didn’t ask if she was alright. Buttercup had already coughed up all the water. 

“Stay,” He growled hand on her center, green eyes turning red. It was nothing heroic. He was no fool to think if Buttercup had been bested that this was a fiend he could easily topple. His eyes burned her flesh and stopped the out pour of red. Buttercup’s scream curdled his blood. She panted. She seethed.

Butch offered her a hand. Buttercup gritted her teeth and might have bitten if Butch had it any closer to her mouth. On her own, Buttercup stumbled to her feet, growling. It wasn’t enough she had been dragged under water and beaten. It wasn’t enough her bones all felt out of place. Of course the day ended with Butch seeing her on her back.

She popped her knuckles, her shoulders, and jerked her hips enough to crack. Butch grinned. Bones grinding and busting was practically an aphrodisiac. He began to bounce and his fingers twitched. There was blood in Buttercup’s eyes. How rare it was to see these days. No one got a rise out of her. One hit and done, a great but woefully dull record to have.

This look was fire. Anger. Strength. Ire.

Butch crouched, Buttercup mirrored his position. There were no commands. There was no game plan. They waited, the earth shook beneath their feet as the creature rose again, wailing. It had no hope or way of knowing what was coming at them. The attacks weren’t coordinated, the pair took as many hits as they landed. 

Too many. 

Hurled back by a blow, Buttercup caught herself midflight. Butch jumped in front of her and lifted his hand, a green veil suddenly around them. The Kraken’s tendril ramming against it, moving them slowly back like a boulder caught in the mud. The translucency of the creature had been lost, covered in its own blood and bruises forced upon it.

“Butch,” Buttercup held his shoulder. She spat blood, “I got an idea.”

Any other fight even he might have scoffed at the notion. They were practically running, flying just high enough out of the monster’s reach. Butch lifted his hand and turned his shield on Buttercup. His fingers slowly crunched into a loose fist, bringing the barrier’s borders in on the girl. Buttercup ran around her cage. Faster. Faster. FASTER. Quicker than a speeding bullet, faster than a lightning strike. All her energy, momentum, and wake all wrapped up in a ball. This wasn’t like any tornado or energy strike she’d done before. It was something tight and potent. It was close quarters, the pressure inside the ball crushing like the water. But here she could breathe. Out running her shadow was to run into it, it was an impossible space. She was a super charged bullet and Butch aimed the chamber.

Moving Buttercup had been an unexpected challenge. His barrier vibrated and hummed against his bones and threatened his muscles. His hands shook and he struggled to keep his fist closed. Every movement was a threat to break free. He had to keep her chained. Butch braced himself and took anchor on the edge of the cliff. His feet dug deep into the stone, mixing with the rumblings from the Kraken’s breach. 

“Come on, B!” He growled jerking her just above the creature. “GO!” Butch heaved and hurled. The bullet fired. Buttercup pierced the monster’s beak! She busted through toward it’s back and burst through to the other side. Bloodied and wired, Buttercup snagged a wagging tendril. Butch seized another. They wrapped around the creature’s neck, weaving over one another. Around and around the greens went, as if it had been nothing but a maypole. 

The Kraken gurgled with its shattered beak, it floundered and gagged. 

_How does it feel when you can’t breathe_? Buttercup seethed.  
She turned and caught a wayward tendril, a desperate smack from the monster. She took a bite out of its skin, barely piercing the rubbery flesh. Robbed of its air, the monster didn’t cry. It shivered and quivered until finally: Nothing. Stillness. The dark blue water was black under the moonlight. Ink and blood spoiled the area. Buttercup inhaled victory. 

She tossed her head back and laughed, her heart racing. When was the last time had she seen death so close? She was alive! This is what it was to live! To thrive and chase greatness. Down in the deeps there were monsters who knew nothing of her name. Why should they? They were great. Greatness and she was but a spec on this Earth.

Glowing green eyes found another just as steeped in victory; the understanding of what it meant to win, the promise of what might have happened if either of them had faced the beast alone to the end. This was what it meant for the Greens to work together. Understanding. Victory. Instincts. Buttercup landed in front of Butch and strutted to him. 

She owed him her life. Her smile grew, she could have died! Butch wrapped himself around her. Hands brushed the visceral mess from her face to take the victor’s kiss. It would be more comforting to blame their shaking on the earthquakes. It was their own mortality causing their palpitations and quivering lips. He held her cheeks and kissed her.

Buttercup fell into his support; she pulled the back of his hair hands needing something to do. She couldn’t stop shaking. Her life had been fleeting and Butch was a ray of life to her, while a murderous threat to another. He could have very well turned his barriers on her and been done with a Puff for life. A Rowdyruff had chosen to save her, spare her, aide her in fighting a monster. His hand brush over her hardened skin cauterized by his own laser gaze.

“I,” Buttercup gasped, Butch kissed her harder. 

There had been nothing. 

No one would have known she was drowning.

“I,” She tried again.

“I got you Buttercup.” The pressure of his hug, the crushing presence was so much more than the cold depths of the lifeless water. His heart rivaled hers, running and beating against his chest hard enough to burst.

Victory had never been so terrifying. Nails clawed the back of Butch’s neck. His skin was warm, blood came. Her grip was still lethal. Buttercup released him, the adrenaline fading with her strength. Butch hoisted her high, 

“Hold your breath, Butterbabe.” He dove into water untouched with the remains of their victory. Without proper energy, their bodies were less apt to fighting infections and healing. He ran them through the water then burst high in the air with a dizzying spin, spraying the water with most of the water that clung to them.

“I have something you can change into for the flight home.”

“I don’t. I just want to be on ground.” She wasn’t good explaining her fears or the odd pull to bidding her to rise to the moon and stars. Did Butch feel it? The Kraken had. He’d been desperate to rise above, Buttercup shuddered, she’d been ready to cut his head off to keep the feeling solely hers.

“I have a camp.” Buttercup coiled her arms tight around her stomach and started off ahead of Butch with both feet back on the ground. He saved her once, she didn’t need any more than that. How could she have even needed help to begin with? Her victory turned rotten, her life had been hanging by a thread. What sort of win had that been? Buttercup had forgotten it wasn’t her only loss in recent weeks. 

“Why do you have a tent? I saw your car…” Her car packed with what little belongings she had, certainly she didn’t pack a toaster to go on a hike and leave it in the backseat.

Buttercup sat in her folding chair, shivering. Her eyes rimmed in red but like a lighter cursed with a wetness, she couldn’t summon any energy to light a fire. Butch shot a high power gazed to the stack of logs surrounded by stones. 

“I have clothes you can change into.” Butch’s jeans were shredded and stained, his shirt more cropped than quarter length. “I’ll grab,”

“I’ll get it and,” He was gone in a flash and back before she could fully process he’d left at all. Buttercup slouched in the chair. All of her ached. Her body itched with fried skin slowly healing. “I know this isn’t the time.”

Buttercup had ditched him. She’d been avoiding him for weeks and the first time she agreed to meet him, she was no where to be seen. Finding her had been hateful at first. He’d been on the prowl ready to rip her ass a new one when he felt the ground shake. Not enough for anyone to notice, but enough to give him pause. The town was immune to strange happenings; Butch looked up. He had searched for her green streak knowing she’d come to the rescue. She’d be at the epicenter catching any buildings that fell.

She never came. No building had even shook. It was enough to set him on edge, he had been certain he’d see her on patrol. A cursory glance. 

Buttercup was a bitch, but she wasn’t one to go back on a promise. The ‘yeah’ had been impersonal, but she was committed. Butch took to the skies and followed the ripple towards the woods. His AHA moment had been stolen when he found her car empty and cold. His heart had been jolted when he heard that scream.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t anger. It was life being ripped away. He gutted so many in the past, the scream was the song of the losers and music to his ears. Never had it sounded so warped and out of tune. He clutched the green paper bag with black ribbon handles and hurled himself in the direction, listening for anything. Anything.  
ANYTHING.

He had come to bring Buttercup a dress something elegant and delicate. Working on the other project had inspired him in new ways to give Buttercup something special to wear. He wanted to see her floating in air; instead he’d come to find her convulsing and compressed in a strangle hold.

Now in front of the fire, too much of the blaze reflected in lifeless eyes. Shame painted her iris, and it wasn’t befitting his queen. She had outlived a demon of the depth. She saved the town and none of them had any idea of the work and risk she put in.

“I’ll take that change of clothes, I brought you this.” Butch set the bag in front of himself and pulled out a dress of lace and tool. Carefully stitched and embroidered flowers on the ivory fabric. Some beaded. Elastic around the top, a clean line across the top of her breasts with the shoulders low.

Butch left her to change.

There was no zipper, it winded Buttercup pulling herself through the elastic. She abandoned her under garments, still damp and soiled despite Butch’s dry clean motions. It hugged her nicely at the top, then fanned out as if were a flower like those applied to it. It was wearing a cloud on her skin, the dress shifted in a wave with every movement.

“Buttercup,” She spun to look at Butch. His jaw slack and the same green light from the fight still in his eyes. “You look,” he mouthed wow. No words would do. His eyes raked up and down her body, the ivory white exposed much of her skin. The pink on her breasts and the dark patch of hair leading down to her entrance. How could she look this incredible after a death-defying fight? While Buttercup felt the pull from the stars, he could not resist the gravity around her. He dropped to his knees, hands on her thighs.

“Butch,” Buttercup laughed, taken back.

“I missed you.”

“Butch,” Her laughs turned into an airy gasp, the cool air from the forest greeting her bare skin as he lifted her dress. Butch wore it like a veil, he mouth at her hips. Buttercup held back the flinch and parted her legs. This was a victory like none other, “Butch.” She moaned. The fire cracked as she lost the strength in her legs, Butch held her with ease. His tongue continued to unmake her insides.

Every lap of his tongue, he spelled the word beautiful into her skin, between her folds. Her sucked her pearl and she could feel him grin against her lips as she bounced. He helped lift her up and down onto his mouth, his teeth nipping at the delicate skin.

“You want me?” She asked and ran her hands down her body, Butch moaned a yes. Buttercup pulled down the top of the dress, the elastic shifted under her breasts, they bounced as she rocked on Butch’s mouth. 

“Butch. I need more.” He squeezed her ass and pulled back the layers of tule. 

“I’ll give you everything.” He carried her into the tent, one hand keeping her pressed to him while the other clumsily pulled at his borrowed sweats. He fell back on the air mattress and franticly pulled his torn jeans close. He fumbled with his wallet and condom. Buttercup sat on his chest, the tent still open, fire burned behind her. He shivered. 

She was still here.

_I’m still here_ , Buttercup breathed watching his eyes gloss over in a haze. 

Something pulled Buttercup under the water, another force urged her to let go and fly away. Buttercup grasped Butch’s shoulders. Solid. Firm. Her heart wasn’t just racing, every thump was out of place. In the center of her chest, off beat.

“Hey,” Buttercup closed her eyes as he touched her cheek. Butch didn’t try to win her over with words. He could only show her she was still here. How alive she was. How it wasn’t just the monster she fucked up. He grabbed her hips and moved her down to his pelvis. Her dress fanned over his body. Her hands dragged down his chest.

The gesture had kindled a fire. Her dull eyes coated with a neon sheen. A primal urge began to burn. Butch grinned. 

Fuck reality. 

Buttercup took his wrist and laid his palms on her breast. He squeezed as she shifted onto her knees. He damned that fucking dress, a thin curtain he could barely see his cock through the fabric. What he couldn’t see, he could feel the silk of her thighs against his tip. He damned the thin coat of latex. Buttercup lifted up and back down again. Caught again in her gravity, Butch rolled his hips with her, chasing the cherry.

She laid a hand on his chest, he centered a palm between her breasts mirroring the position. 

“Ah,” Buttercup inhaled. Her fingers clawed him as she sat on her throne. Butch shuddered. It was the calm before the storm. The switch had been flipped and the ferocity behind their eyes unleashed. He seized his hips and bucked. It was the screams he should have been hearing, the appropriate gasps and clenches and she took more of him inside her. The fabric billowed and fluffed around them,

“Yes!” Butch grunted and flipped them. Buttercup recoiled, body rising like a tidal wave. Butch rode into her, fucking her back onto the air mattress and her breath out of her. Her chest arched and his mouth dropped on them like a prize, sucking her tits as if life would spring from her. Though Butch knew there was no better juice than from her vagina. Could it have been the chemical-x? Something a little sweet, spicey, and naughty that made her taste better than the rest?

The dress had landed under her hair, framing Buttercup’s face with a veil of ivory lace and handmade applique flowers. Was this how Kings felt? Their queens framed with riches and eyes rolling back in pleasure. The slick slaps of their bodies connecting was white noise under Buttercup’s encouraging moans. Her legs butterflied, out asking for more then wrapping around him demanding he drive deeper. Harder.

Butch had no reservations obeying the delivered commands. 

“You’re so tight, god.” Butch gasped into her neck. He could feel her insides constricting, her hands shook as they threaded his hair. She’d kill him if he knew how badly he wanted to break her in two. Butch snarled and moaned as he bit her neck,

So what if he tried? 

Buttercup had hell beaten into her, he’d fuck it out. Every ache he’d replace with pleasure. Butch held his hips flush against her pussy. Buttercup mewled and lifted her chest in need.

“There, there!” She slapped his back, Butch caught her wrists and pinned them above her head. Buttercup opened her eyes and glared. “Don’t stop.” She demanded and snatched his chin.

There was the fire. 

“I said fuck me. Harder.”

Butch bucked. Buttercup squeezed. “Harder.” He had to let go of her other hand to grasp her waist, the sweat of his palm seeping into the fabric. Butch steadied himself. He barely took a breath, he did not spare a moment. Buttercup had told him what she expected and all be damned if he didn’t fail to deliver. He rammed in hard. Anyone else he would have broken. He didn’t have to think about anything with Buttercup. He could jack hammer away and she’d feel it like a massage from the inside, working every knot out. 

Buttercup rubbed her chest in front of him. “Like what you see, Butchy?” Her fingers flicking her own nipples and goose bumps following her touch. He wanted to lick the bumps away, be the heat on her skin as the fire was to his.

“Yes,” His voice was weak. She was in his clothes. He had to take a mental picture to map out the scene again, this was a crime to not immortalize. He could see lust in her eyes and he had put it there. He laid on top of her unable to resist her filthy mouth. Buttercup gasped against him as he grinded with both dick and tongue, her pretty breasts smashed against his chest.

God it felt good. No wonder even the monster wanted to wrap around her, crush her. Butch wanted to be closer. He rode her body, hissing his pleasure, biting her shoulder and neck; Buttercup clawed his name into his back.

Buttercup couldn’t catch her breath. Butch framed her head with his palms. The mattress popped. So did Buttercup’s resolve,

“Yes!” She wailed! The muscles inside shuddered against his length and rattled his core. Butch came with Buttercup’s scream. Not the scream of fear or pain. Not the one of no return, but one with promise of being entirely blinded with pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> A lot of end notes. There’s a lot of lil tid bits in here so enjoy!
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> This chapter has more elements for the story this AU is based off of. There was a real tinny reference that is going to play a big part in this fic, but plays a HUGE part in my other. So I’m excited to introduce it!
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> Why did I choose Dexter’s radio station as 58? Any guesses? Because it just happens to be one of the channels CNN used to be on back in the day lolol and I changed to that station so much once we had finally gotten cable that I guess that is just sort of engrained in my head?
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> I chose to use Dexter since he is a Craig McCracken character, in my other AU I use some Foster’s Home characters. Not really a cross over, just bringing in characters we’re already familiar with so I don’t need a place holder with an OC (I tend to get attached to OCs and give them a lot of life lol…see my Trollhunters fic)
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> Also a huge shout out to my friend Kiss! She helped me thinking up of a few more chapter titles, I didn’t quiet have enough for the rest. And I think I got the entirety of this fic planned out so that’s hella exciting! …And I love all the chapter titles. Like I’m stupidly proud of them lol.
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> Also would you guys like the link to the spotify playlist I sometimes play? I don’t always listen to it while I write because I usually listen to scores – lyrics in songs can sometimes be distracting for me. But other times useful lol! Please let me know what you think!
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> I made it public and periodically add/remove songs: [My PPG RRB play list](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6P2vaXadqkvPRmRGbO1dtP?si=iag845hjRGq2xklO8J4b7g)
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> PS usual reminder: I don’t have a beta or patience to properly edit myself. 
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> Now those who follow me else where know I have been hinting at something…I got a commission from the insanely talented @sxnalien. If you haven’t seen it already, go check it out!  
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> [Here is the link to the full picture in all its beautiful glory. ](https://sxnalien.tumblr.com/post/640988879353184256/its-been-quite-some-time-since-i-posted-but)  
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> Last but not least. I just need to gush somewhere. I have finally finished my first original story. Now it’s time to start editing. But I just can’t believe…I finished my own whole ass novel. And a (judgey lol) friend read it…and loved it!!!  
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> Also I'm on tumblr: [diedieri](https://diedieri.tumblr.com/)  
> On pillowfort: [Manas-Moment](https://www.pillowfort.social/Manas-Moment)  
> On Twitter: [Manas-Moment](https://twitter.com/ManasMoment)
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> Please feel free to leave comments/tags/reblogs there as well!


	6. Cream Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Townsville wouldn’t get to see her at all. Their lust would remain centered on the headless Lady Lime. The sensible side of her, the part of her DNA she shared with her sisters that encouraged her to think steps ahead, to be wary and cautious knew this was a good thing. She didn’t have to make everything so hard by being herself. If only she’d give a little, so much wouldn’t be taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> *********** Please read before beginning this chapter **********  
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>  This chapter contains fictional drug use. A drug created simply to meet the needs of the scene – drug use none the less.  
> Reminder that is an adult fanfiction with mature and dark themes. While some content is realistic, this is fiction and it’s fun to write and read something a little wild the you wouldn’t necessarily do in the real world.
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> Just enjoy the ride my dudes.  
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> 

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_Lie in Lime  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Six:  
Cream Pie  
_

The comfort of clean cotton panties is unrivaled. Gentle. Soft. A personal pillow after a heavy romp and a quick piss behind a bush. Despite still exposed in the ivory dress fit for a princess who moonlight as a temptress for villainous acts, Buttercup felt cozy and confident. Really it had to be the cotton! The underwear were just comfortable, the dress flowy, and the hoodie really pulled everything together. After everything, her throat flooded, the fight, and the fucking, it was this getup Butch had finally stopped to take a picture and save the moment. Only one of those would she suspect he’d want to take a snapshot of, and she still would have been wrong. Buttercup laughed and hide behind the tulle, the veil glowed like gold in the reflection of the fire.

“So, the fuck?” Butch asked in the eloquent way most befitting his tongue. He rubbed his hands together between bouncing knees. Without needle, thread, music, or fucking he didn’t have anything to center him. This was the Butch Buttercup recognized: Restless and wound up. Who knew all he ever needed was an outlet. If someone had put a camera in his hands before he started committing crimes maybe the Rowdyruffs would have never manage to make a name for themselves that promised an ass kicking from the girls.

Buttercup could only offer him orange juice or water from Dexter’s cooler. This was the part she had been avoiding, one too many already knew of her situation. Buttercup was homeless. There wasn’t anymore hiding behind a job and changing screen. Her tongue not silver enough to talk her way out of the situation,

“I couldn’t make rent. Dex needed someone to check out the seismic activity.” Buttercup turned on the radio. A French song just ending before Dexter broadcasted himself, 

_‘Activity spike. Major activity ended. Thank you, Ms. Utonium. The city continues to rest easy with your efforts.’_

Buttercup spun the dial to another station that had curried her favor over the week. She didn’t look to Butch. She didn’t have to, she knew his eyes were plastered on her. Judging her. Looking for the punchline and waiting for the just kidding. Under his watch she didn’t get to enjoy it much: the thank you. Georgie had said it too her and sometimes Dexter. She didn’t blame him, for him it wasn’t a lack of gratitude. Dexter buried himself in work creating and protecting Townsville and the like in his own right, usually planning what to do in the event of Buttercup’s death. It was sweet. Oddly. It was hard not to hate the town that scoffed at her. She was never enough anymore. Did she have to punch so loud? They had forgotten what it meant to be afraid, what it was like when she and her sisters were still struggling to keep villains in check. No one said thank you to her, she was just a reminder of everything that was still wrong. Dexter thanked her for both her efforts and data for his research. 

“You’re not homeless.” Butch laughed and jumped to pace around the fire and worked out the energy, a quick turn around after senseless fucking. That was part of the green charm, boundless potential and energy. They were a train that wouldn’t stop even when derailed.

Butch growled, “Why would you be homeless?”

Buttercup stayed in place, she now kept her eyes up and on him. Looking away would be admitting to her shame. She’d rather him believe camping was the next best thing than admit to the regret of popping her air mattress that she would have to replace before returning everything to Dexter.

“You’re always busy, or something. Working?” His words were more of an accusation. She had been too busy for him for sensible reasons. Not avoiding him and camping in the woods. She didn’t need to sleep beside a pee-bush.

Buttercup started to nod. Working was a light judgement. It was near to the truth. 

Not really. When she did work was barely enough to cover the bare minimum, sometimes not even that. An hourlong class every other day didn’t pay all the bills. There was car insurance, the studio rental fee, supplies, rent, and food. She relied on odd jobs, on Mitch needing help at the bar. This is why she didn’t want to talk, at least not until she was done being bitter about the dress. Not until her life had remotely gotten back on track. It was hard to not want to blame someone else. She’d been the victim of her own shitty situation for so long it was a relief to have the right to point the finger at someone else. But. She had been the one to turn down his money. She had been the one to choose silence and buy the dress. The finger always came back to herself.

Buttercup crossed her arms to hide the guilt. It wasn’t just blaming Butch. She hadn’t meant to text Butch at all. She’d been texting Brick, agreeing to meet up with him to see the place he found when the tremors had alerted Buttercup and she replied to Butch instead apparently. Idiot.

Again Butch’s conversation was more cutting than understanding. Everything about him was sharp when he wasn’t horizontal and putty under her power. “You always left because you have work early.”

“Yeah,” Buttercup shrugged. The yoga and gym class kept her busy at odd hours, she really did need to offer more classes. However, the more she had, the more she might have to cancel at the first sign of trouble. Protecting the town always came first, even before her own damned wallet.

“But you’re a Powerpuff Girl.”

“A voluntary position. There’s no perks. No over time or hazard pay.” Buttercup saved the town because she was strong enough to bear the burden. She could shoulder the load alone now that her sisters had a life beyond the squad. She was proud of this. In the midst of a fight none of that mattered, she wouldn’t give up the fight for anything. It was her. The professor had built it into her very DNA. Spice. She was the literal kick in the chemical makeup of the Powerpuff girls. She loved her sisters didn’t have this stress. They did so much! They had gone so far and Buttercup would _never_ damn them to a life of this. She might not be able to give great birthday and holiday presents, she never had anything to show for her efforts and was either empty handed or in debt. But she knew this was the greatest gift. They could be perfectly normal girls. Women whose missions wasn’t blockaded by monster guts.

Butch paused in front of her on the other side of the fire, “You took the job.” His realization was equally another accusation. Mitch had told Butch he had a friend who could always use the extra cash. He told Buttercup he had a friend who had difficulties getting a model due to his personality. They were lies and truths, only now did Butch understand Buttercup’s.

“I didn’t pay you. Oh fuck—. But you said no.” He pointed, accusations still evident and piling up. The boy was finally catching up! Buttercup didn’t hold him at fault, though she considered in multiple times in passing. She couldn’t trust his money. What was the point of taking money and stimulating the cycle she sought to end?

“Trust me, Butch. My problems extend well past you.”

“Fucking cunt, you should have taken the money! How much, hell, you lost the lease. What asshole kicked you out? I’ll kick his ass!”

“No,” She laughed, charmed at the sentiment, but still too much good in her heart. “I couldn’t pay; I can’t stay. Simple as that.”

“Fuck that! You’re a Powerpuff girl in the fucking woods! Look around Buttercheeks! You deserve to be in a hotel! Top floor. The best suite.”

“Thanks, Butch.”

“I’m serious!”

“That’s why I said thanks. Look. It’s alright. I already have a place lined up,” was it wrong she trusted Brick that easily? He wouldn’t pitch to her something out of her league. Neither of them like wasting time or beating around the bush. If he had a lead, it would be solid.

“I was waiting this fucker out. I’m okay.” Buttercup kicked her legs out, toes curling in the heat of the fire. A fairy likeness to her in the dress, it was hard not to trust her. Buttercup had become a master at being all right in the company of others. It was just another form of protection. Butch’s pacing paused. 

“What about work?” He sat on a log beside her chair. Butch, like any know it all, already lectured her twice on keeping the fire fed. He cut down a small tree for a place to sit and food for the fire. 

“Work is work.”

“Well, I mean, like something between yoga and gym?”

“Look, I appreciate you think I’m fine as wine. But I can’t spread my legs for a camera all day.”

“Noted. We can do it for some of the day,” Butch wiggled his eyebrows and kissed her thighs without any hesitation. He caressed the fabric and met her eyes, “I’m actually offering you a job. A real one. In the boutique.” 

Butch had claimed to own the entire squat three floor building. She had only seen the studio and the garage attached to it, for all she knew he had been yanking her chain. Butch was a bastard and he was only patient when the prank was going to be worth it. Buttercup chose silence. Even a childish joke would be too much after her week, after this day. The sex had been the only perk. Buttercup promptly crossed her legs.

“Dude, no. I’m serious!” He jumped back up! Butch popped his knuckles like the cracks from the fire. “My shop is amazing but it’s,” Butch growled and flexed his hands. Apologies and asking favors had once been a struggle for her, admitting a weakness was impossible for him. Butch grabbed a log and chucked it hard against a tree.

“It’s just bullshit people take one look at me and think I’m robbing the place!”

What could she say? She would think the same thing. The Rowdyruff Boys had been tyrants. They were terrors who had gone unchecked and kept the girls on their toes. Even when they were gone they had been terrified for their return. Ironic when they had, Bubbles and Boomer seemed to be always hand in hand.

“What do you want me to do about it? A photo-op? I’ll give the joint two thumbs way up,” Buttercup flipped him off. Butch, still with easy energy in him was in front of her in a flash, her finger bent back.

“Cock sucker!”

“Ball buster, c’mon Butterballs. Please? Do you hear me? Please. All you have to do is say hi to people, keep the doors open, and ring them up.”

“Keep the doors open?”

“I lock up shop. A lot. It’s a real drag for moving inventory OK?” He sat on the ground in front of her, hands on her knees, eyes round like a puppy dog.

Buttercup looked away and tightened her arms over her waist. Even Butch had his shit together. He had a legitimate business; he’d have even more of a fashion line the more he concurred with the notion he could do whatever he wanted—shocking. A Rowdyruff afraid of gender stereotypes; not for long. The future was his. Both of her sisters had moved on. Apparently so had all of the Ruffs.

She was the last one who couldn’t get it together. The problem wasn’t even that she would be working retail, a lot of people worked that market, but those people had properly applied for positions. They had years of experience. This was a handout. Even ‘please’ tasted sweet compared to _that._

Yoga had been a personal hobby that Blossom suggested she monetize. Bubbles suggested she do the same with boxing. Her own little endeavors had also been at the hand of another.

But. Handout or not, what position was she in to say no? Her! Buttercup! The toughest fighter was dependent on the kindness of others. She brought nothing to the table other than being a body. If Brick found her a place she would need to make rent, having a little extra would be good to save back incase this happened again.

“I only want to be paid with what you make at the shop.” Despite her position, Buttercup refused to fall to the lowest. She would never be someone for her sisters to look down upon. 

“Seriously?” Butch held her hips and leaned up. His eyes weren’t a toxic green with the stars reflected in them. It was like looking at the aura lights. Who was this man? He might be simply excited to have her officially under his thumb, Buttercup scowled. Butch beamed, “I have these ideas, like. Can you wear some of the clothes we sell?”

We?

Her heart jumped out of place, pounding in the center of her chest and off beat.

“Think about it, where did you get it? At Vortex. You’re a model, worker, and client.”

“Vortex?”

“Yeah. I flipped a coin between that and tacos.” 

“Vortex is good,” She laughed still watching for the trap. The vicious grin she was used to on his lips didn’t come. His excitement wasn’t diluted with a blood lust just earnest. “Do you,” Buttercup paused afraid to engage completely in this conversation. If she asked too much he’d think she was wrapped around his finger. “Make everything?” Butch making lingerie had been a surprise, it was his favorite to create, the delicacy and nimbleness of a fingers kept it a challenge. Butch was determined to break out of his typeset in every regard. He made this dress! He made a dress for Ms. Fatale. She wouldn’t be surprised if his talents suppressed for so long had burst enough to fill an entire room.

“No. It’s a boutique.”

Buttercup snickered, “Sorry. I really didn’t think you knew the word.”

“It’s pretty bad ass. Sells men and women’s clothes. I’ve been trying put more of my own work in there. Product just moves slow. Chicks don’t want to buy from a dick.”

“What a concept,” Buttercup shoved his head away before she lost too much of herself. He sat back in the dirt, fire at his back.

-x-

New hours. 

The amount of time Butch spent taking a picture of the sign should have been embarrassing. Buttercup kept the comment to herself. This was a moment of celebration for Butch, who was she to take it from him? He had even made a new sign for the occasion, hand painted with white paint on a black background. 

Figuring out the schedule had been easy. The hard part was keeping from Butch she hadn’t yet moved into a new place yet. She was still commuting from her yoga studio to her tent near the cliff. She still showered at the gym and washed some clothes in the sink when she was coming up short; she’d been ready to hit the laundromat again when Butch solved her clothes shortage problem. Now she just had to clean her undergarments with soap and hang them to dry on the line between the trees. It wasn’t a glamourous life but it wasn’t much different than her apartment.

Buttercup flew high in the sky, testing out the pull of the stars and the Earth below. It also kept her off her sister’s radar. No one could see her and judge, no townies were afraid and she was saving on gas. The hardest part was Butch asking where her car was. Buttercup took the high road: silence. 

Brick had texted her the place was still available; he would just be out for a week due to work.

> _BC: I got a new job  
>  Stress Relief: Do you sing now too?  
>  BC: Hah.  
>  BC: Actually I’m not bad.  
>  Stress Relief: I don’t do karaoke  
>  BC: Shower concerts only I’m afraid  
>  Stress Relief: Interesting. Where is this place at? Should I sign up, how much are tickets?  
>  Stress Relief: Kidding.  
>  Stress Relief: Kind of. _

Buttercup stared at the screen, she held her phone against her chest and tapped the case with her thumb. It was nothing worth smiling over. Still. She was. Brick wanted to attend her classes. What if she asked him to join the gym? Even if he didn’t take her class, they could work out together. Someone to give her a challenge and push her harder. No. All the guys would flock to him. She enjoyed the odd silence the gym gave her. Her classes were bustling, despite the limited hours she offered. Outside of training, when it was just her headphones no one bothered her. Her training was vigorous and intense. Without a villain with the challenge every hour, Buttercup had to mitigate the weakness forming in her bones. She had to stay on the top of her game. Training was just as much important as it was actually protecting the town. It was a financial drain, focusing on herself and driving herself into exhaustion.

Magically. The exhaustion lifted every time her screen lit up,

__

> _  
> Stress Relief: What kind of job?  
>  BC: Just a small clothing shop.  
>  BC: Kind of cool. I wear some of the product, it’s nice. _
> 
> _Stress Relief: You at work now? Show me.  
>  BC: lol. [picture attached]  
>  _

Texting Brick had been a regular development when she was in range of a cell tower. The foot traffic in the shop was slow in the mornings, not that Buttercup minded. Texting him had started to move beyond text to save herself from boredom. She wanted to know what he was doing? What was his next project for work? After yoga she used the hours for a quick shower in the studio and nap behind the cash register. Word was getting out, from word of mouth and the uptick in the Vortex’s social media account. True to form, they kept Buttercup’s face off the camera but her body was quickly becoming part of the label.

Butch had photographs of her printed and hung on the walls, a full-length portrait hung in the display case for window watchers. The back room, veiled with black beads and low lighting had something special. With a woman on staff, Butch had finally brought something extra to the table. It was a private area meant for little parties, two private dressing rooms and a small fridge for wine and drinks. It was a catered experience to pick and choose lingerie. The shop had its liquor licensed framed. Buttercup inspected its legitimacy herself. The walls were covered with ornate mirrors and photographs of her and Butch decorated in fine lace and flavors of fabric. They spent a solid day repainting the walls a deep red and tiling the floor in black and white checkers. At Buttercups suggestion Butch bought a black chandelier with fake flickering candles for atmosphere.

She hated it a little. Was it vanity staring at yourself all day? Butch modeled the men’s wear but those photographs never had the same artistic touch, limited to the tripod and Buttercup’s ability to keep the camera steady. It felt good helping solidify a space; she kept her sisters in mind.

Blossom would want something classy. Bubbles wanted details. The chairs were plush, everything was matching. There were catalogues and a card for a personal commission—there was no price tag for this option. 

“Bubbles can have a bachelorette party here.” Butch was always buying things from the boutique. Clothes to sell, items to decorate, fabric to sew to add more of his own collection to the racks. She was unsurprised to see him with a hoard of black candles in his arms, she was however, completely taken back by his words.

“Sorry?” Buttercup lowered her camera. Working here had done something in a short time, she felt good. About herself. Her body. Buttercup had always taken care of herself physically. She rarely showed it outside of her exercise clothing for her classes. The hours she wore product Buttercup felt at ease in her skin. Some days she was sexy, others she was comfortable. It always looked good.

Even in sneakers and shorts so short they were lost under the heavy sweater, hanging off her shoulders she didn’t double check the stares. They weren’t looking at Buttercup the Powerpuff, instead it had become what is Lime wearing today? Any other work environment might have considered it indecency. Butch liked that finally one of his practical bras was on display, even if just the strap.

“Her and Boomer. He talks about her a lot.” 

They didn’t talk family, Buttercup considered dropping the conversation when she caught him looking. Hoping.

“Think it’s serious?” Buttercup sat on the counter, Butch laid out the candles around the shop. Quiet.

“It’s just weird.” He put on his fake glasses and pocketed his hands. 

“Because she is a Powerpuff?”

“Because he’s Boomer. Look. You think I’m a fucking player? He was a goddamn dog. And he’s suddenly into one chick, like, for life? I guess that’s good. But.”

“Butch. You guys are allowed to have nice things.” He snapped to attention, eyes on her and his shoulders a solid even line, drawn up to his ears. She didn’t think it was any sort of coded conversation, Butch wasn’t the type. He was the type however, to continue to doubt himself. Everyone else would, he needed to get himself together.

“This place is incredible. I mean. Look at me!” Buttercup jumped up and motioned to herself. “This is all you. Fuckin own it.” She took his glasses and put them on top of his head. “You’re a photographer and a designer, Butch. You should,”

Buttercup took a breath, “if they ever get married you should offer to make her dress.”

He laughed. 

“I’ll send her a complimentary set.” That was as close of an agreement he could give. He took the last of the decorative candles into the party room. His doubt lingered about Buttercup. His bitterness infectious and potent. She couldn’t even say if it was validation he needed from the world or if it was bravery to be himself in front of his brothers. It was easy to be different in front of a stranger, practically speaking, that’s what Buttercup had been. The blood between brother’s had different weight. The had an image with each other, a standard.

What the fuck did it even matter? Butch was glad Boomer wasn’t a horn dog anymore. Brick was busy with work. What did it matter? She flexed her hand. It was not wanting to be judge poorly by those you loved. Not wanting to disappoint them either. 

Buttercup had disappointed the Utonium’s at every given chance. She’d never be able to tell them she was having misadventures with two of their childhood enemies. One was enough for the family. Bubbles might understand. She had been the one to encourage Buttercup to embrace herself. Her body. To love herself a little more. To buy the clothes that made her feel good. Mostly, Buttercup wore her sister’s outfits if they wanted to dress up and go out. It felt more acceptable to wear a hand-me-down than go and buy something herself.

She wanted to buy everything in Butch’s shop, on both the men and women’s rack. Even looking at the clothes made her feel good. He was starting to consider removing the labels, to be more forward thinking and welcoming. He was really trying. Buttercup posted photo she sent to Brick on the company feed.

“Hey Bitchercup,” Butch knocked on front desk.

“You know it’s no fair that your name is boring.” She handed him the money bag. He read the deposit note and tucked it under his arm. 

“You don’t work tonight right?”

It was a rare night off, it would be her, the stars, and Dexter’s weird French station. She needed to get in a work out, to keep up her training hours lost to working for Butch.

“Want to go to do something?” Butch didn’t meet her eyes, he knocked on the counter again, his weight shifted from foot to foot. “Like not here in the studio.”

He cut off her exact train of thought, she thought she needed to prep for a photoshoot, “Oh.” Buttercup pulled her hands into the sleeve of the sweater. There wasn’t any clarification. Not a date, maybe not exactly friends either.

“I have a place in mind. It’s not exactly above bar. It’s fucking rad.” At last he held her gaze, his grin wide. Sharp. It was a place precisely up his alley and one she might bust a few faces against a wall. “I made something for it.”

“You made something. Just in case I said yes?”

“Too cool to party, BC?” Not cool enough, Buttercup thought. This wasn’t something admitted minutes after being asked out. She did not party. She went to a club occasionally with her sister and loved it, but Buttercup did not know how to go or alone or with anyone other than someone looking for a ‘girls only girls night!’ It usually ended in painting nails and calling Blossom, demanding she join them the next time she was in town.

“Come on.” He tapped the bag of money on the counter, “I’m going to lock this up. Can you lock up the shop? Come up to the studio.”

Only one week in her new title and already Buttercup had the weight of the key memorized. She could feel the gentle click of the door and gave it a familiar tug. In the studio Buttercup had her own place carved out. There was a spot for her duffle bag, her change of clothes. Her key ring was practical. A card to swipe in for the gym, a studio key, one for her car and at last one for Butch’s place, one for the boutique and another key to his studio. She tossed the sparce ring in her bag and sat on the couch waiting for Butch. There were too many projects laid about to assume which were meant for her specifically. Though every project had her interest, black dresses with ornate silver embellishment, long trains, skirts of tulle had her interest.

Butch hadn’t picked any from the studio, he brought a piece with him from his floor. The dress was short, bright and a color that would have looked drabbed on anything else, but this was for the illusion of skin, to make the bright neon green lace to pop.

“I made a similar lingerie piece,” Butch explained and laid it near Buttercup. He laid out his own outfit, including a plaid with similar bright overlaid colors. He suggested she take some heels from the studio. 

“Pick a pair?” She asked taking everything behind a curtain not missing Butch remove his shirt without a second thought. The dress wasn’t a tight fit, though it moved like a second skin. Butch had to zip up the top half of the dress, he snipped a few threads before letting her see them both in the reflection. It was the illusion of nudity. Buttercup was wearing the damn thing and put a conscious hand over her breast where her nipples ought to be.

“This must have taken a while.” She smoothed her hand down her sides, the dress well above her finger tips. It didn’t take a genius to imagine what Butch had been picturing with every snip of the scissors. She liked it, the pop of color. The allure. Buttercup couldn’t take her eyes off herself, she barely noticed she wasn’t alone. Suddenly the club was the best idea in weeks. The outfit screamed look at me Townsville! They couldn’t ignore her forever. Sure, now they’d snub her, call her names in relation to the outfit. Buttercup knew wouldn’t just be sneers, jaws would drop. Finally, someone might be impressed. 

“Oh,” Buttercup grabbed Butchs’s shoulder. He hadn’t asked her to sit or lift her foot, had dropped on his knees and taken her ankle and gently placed it in the heals. Once he looked up at her, he strapped in one of several bands. Buttercup smirk down at him. He looked good at this angle. His jaw sharp and eyes blown wide. She tapped his chin, 

“I like your crop top.” She said. 

“Bringing it back for the fellas.” His tank was cropped and the matching plaid tied around his waist. His jeans were ripped stylishly. Fashionable and expectedly rough looking.

“So. I think you should wear something.” 

“Now you think I should wear something? This a little skimpy, hm?”

“Fuck off,” He laughed and pulled out a small piece of fabric, the lace matching with a black backing. It was topped with elastic for a small fit. What she thought to be a head piece was pulled over her eyes. “It’s a bad place, BC. I’d prefer not to bust heads all night.” 

Buttercup’s stomach twisted. Her confidence shook. She had been ready to be Buttercup, unforgivably Buttercup at her brightest. Butch wanted her to hide. Townsville wouldn’t get to see her at all. Their lust would remain centered on the headless Lady Lime. The sensible side of her, the part of her DNA she shared with her sisters that encouraged her to think steps ahead, to be wary and cautious knew this was a good thing. She didn’t have to make everything so hard by being herself. If only she’d give a little, so much wouldn’t be taken.

Butch held her shoulder.

“This Clark Kent shit isn’t going to work,” Buttercup tried to suffocate the tension with blanketed humor.

“No. It works. “ He would know. Buttercup didn’t need to mention that tonight he was going glasses free. Instead he left his glasses on a work table and jingled his keys.

Going with Butch to the club was the same as arriving at the Art Gala. He reminded her to wait and a valet opened her door. The valet wasn’t particularly well dressed; but dressed well. They were in black and white, grin bright.

“Butchy-boi, who’s the babe?” To his credit, he didn’t look back to Buttercup. His eyes were on Butch and his back stiff. He almost made a show of his hands being on the handle and top of the door. Butch didn’t give him an answer and slipped a thin sheet of green in his pocket. He slapped his cheek and rounded the front of the car to Buttercup.

“Surprised you didn’t kick his ass,” Butch offered Buttercup his arm like he was ready to walk a princess into a ball. She took it. Her thumb stroked his bicep. It was the closet they had been without a camera between them or without a promise of an orgasm. 

Buttercup hummed, truly thoughtful for a pause, “I was waiting for him to really deserve it.” Butch had warned her this wasn’t an upstanding place. That had felt like a lie. The building was in the heart of westside, not too far from Butch’s boutique. Had she know she might have suggested they walk. Buttercup tilted her head all the way back, she’d always thought this was some sort of financial institution. Always busy but never a place of her business. Up close there was no name on the building. There was a small entrance of glass doors, behind it, red curtains. There was no line like you’d expect from a club.

“Butch,” a burly man stepped away from the doors and spoke into his lapel. “Two for Below.” He shook hands with him and nodded to Buttercup. For a club for Townsville’s worst everyone was well mannered. Polite. The elevator operator told them of the house specials and she was shocked to find them going down when there was so much up for the building to see.

“There’s another club up top. Hotel too.” Butch explained speaking lowly into her ear. “It’s a front.”

“Sure you want to tell me that?” Buttercup smiled and bumped her hip against Butch’s. She let it linger. Butch released her arm to wrap it around her side. The doors opened just in time to hide the fluttering beat of her heart. Easy to mistake for her surprise at the sudden booming music. The elevator had been entirely soundproof! 

Butch led them inside following a red carpet, a clear and roped off path to feed into patrons so they may choose which level to go to, which bar to attended. 

Buttercup hugged the rail and leaned over, there were four levels, three below them, all with the view to the top, an excessive waste of space. The club was bumping, Butch came behind her, one hand on her waist and other beside hers on the rail.

“Hey,” Buttercup looked over her shoulder to meet his eye. “I should have asked first. Do you mind if I have a little fun tonight?”

A Rowdyruff asking for fun sounded like trouble. This was, as Butch said, a club of notoriety. It hadn’t even been on her radar and already she could see he had a reputation here.

“Nothing bad. It’s just. This place?” He gestured to the open air ahead of them, every floor a circle wrapped around an invisible column. “It’s meant to be seen under the influence.” She laughed at that and bumped back into his chest. 

“I’m serious! You can too, you know.” Butch grinned, his body stepped closer and pinned her to the rail. Buttercup didn’t feel trapped so much as she did shielded. Under her mask no one would know her name. No one would know what the good girl was up to. 

“I’m sorry,” She started. Butch took her hand and smiled, his teeth less wolfish and more understanding, like he had been expecting this and was glad she hadn’t arrested him then and there.

“It’s chill Butterbabe. Have a drink?”

“Yes!”

The bartender followed suit of the valet, bouncer, and elevator operated. They greeted Butch by his name soaked in fear and respect, warry of what mood their patron would be in. He had stopped mid order with another couple and came directly to Butch already with two shots in hand. Butch gave one to Buttercup.

“Take a sip.”

“It’s a shot,” She scoffed, she was a good girl, not a lightweight.

“This is like, real moonshine shit. Made in a fucker’s bathtub. Made under the seedy moon,” He laughed into her ear, “it’s meant to knock people like us on our asses.”

Buttercup paused with the glass at her lips. Like us? Who would know what to make anything suited to the needs of blood pumped with Chemical-X? Nothing looked suspicious about the drink. Though its very scent burned her nose. Butch tossed his back and held his hand out to take it from her. Butch could drink fast and a lot, the effects would still be brief with their chemical makeup. If even he was giving credit to a drink… She tossed it back.

“Damn, girl!” Butch hooted and ordered double shot for himself. There came a silent question, she saw. Butch nodding and holding up one finger. Just for me, none for her. My date, Buttercup wondered if that had been included in the translation. This was a date, right?

“Okay,” he derailed the thoughts. Buttercup stretched her arms along the bar and turned to face him. “This stuff it hits hard. It’s pretty much useless anywhere else. You might be a bit high when you leave, but it’s meant to be taken here. Are you sure you don’t want to try? It’s not addictive. It’s _fun._ ” He held his arms out almost inviting. Buttercup gave him a hard stare.

Any challenge Butch tossed at her she would rise to. It wasn’t a challenge. This really was an offer. A chance to be like everyone else. She shook her head once, Butch nodded and touched her shoulder then her head. Her nose pressed into his neck as he leaned over for a little knapsack left out on the counter by the bartender.

“This is Tinker Bomb.” Butch explained, “It takes your thoughts and makes them happy. Makes everything 4D. You can fly, you can fly and you can see Never Never Land.” His voice was almost sing song, he was trying to be kind and explain the contents. Buttercup thought his hunger was getting the best of him. When Butch wanted something he didn’t take the long way. His fingers pulled open the silk ribbon. He barely showed her the glittering golden powder. It certainly looked like fairy dust.

Buttercup’s shock only continued when Butch reached in and sprinkled more than a pinch over his eyes. You don’t smoke or shoot it, he explained. 

“How much does it cost?” Butch hadn’t paid for their drinks; he hadn’t paid for the bag. The only exchange of money she’d seen was him tipping the driver. Butch looked at her, his eyes glowed. Glitter speckled his eyes and face. It didn’t melt away or itch at his eye. She watched the green disappear, taken over by a lucid deep black. If he heard her question, Butch didn’t care to answer.

“Dance?” He laughed, a laugh of her own bubbled up from the moonshine. She took his hand and didn’t complain when he swooped her into his arms. Everyone knew he was a Rowdyruff, he was allowed to show off and fly them to the bottom floor. The music was different on the bottom most floor. The people who cleared for his landed reclaimed their space, bodies writhing blindly to the music. They didn’t care about him or her.

It was a little disappointing. Butch was in a crop top. She traced her finger along his muscle and he glided fingers along her frame. The dress had been all but poured onto her body and no one was staring. Buttercup didn’t want to be objectified but she did want to be admired. The town saw her only as an eyesore. She wanted to be a sour candy.

Buttercup didn’t have to look far. Diluted eyes were looking nowhere else but her.

Butch wished Buttercup had taken a sprinkle. The club was fine to the naked eye but it was another world under the Tinker Bomb. The lights were pumping out music, the music was playing colors he’d never seen before. The walls were alive breathing to the beat. The curtains protecting private booths were hands having to come and take a seat.

He only looked away to see the disco ball above them, images unseen to Buttercup were around all the rest of them. Phantom bodies danced with the singles. The air pulsated. He didn’t have to move his body, it was the floor gyrating. Butch started dancing his hands reaching up to the dancing strips of fabric above them. The entire club had become a starship and taken then to another world. Only sober Buttercup would stay grounded. 

“Come here,” They heard the same music but she couldn’t feel it like him. It crawled into his veins and broke his bones. The beat vibrated and his body ungulated. Butch hugged Buttercup to his chest, her back against him, his pelvis bounced freely against her. She didn’t need to see the beyond to move like a goddess.

Butch shook his head—the happy thoughts came. He wiped his hand along her skin, a gentle touch. He tried brushing the strange lettering from her beautiful shoulders. It came and came again. He blinked until the dots buzzed into a shape, his name.

Butch. Butch. Butch. Over and over. His name imprinted on her skin, bleeding under her sweat and forming again. He needed to ditch the shirt tied around his waist. He’d worn a crop top and it was still suddenly too hot! 

Buttercup spun toward him and Butch groaned. His name on her lips, His reflection bright in her eyes even under the shade of the mask made of lace. The words warped into another, MINE. Then another, SEX. BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. AMAZING. BUTTERCUP. BUTCH. He couldn’t keep up, but never stopped dancing. Minutes to hours passed, it could have been days and the words never changed, always on a loop. Buttercup bounced closer and rocked against his body. He blinked as there was suddenly another Buttercup.

“Oh. Fuck.” He looked between them. Each girl humped a leg. Their breasts bounced, time slowed and he zoomed in. The fabric was neon under the black lights. And in Tinker Bomb the threads were vibrating and peeling apart. He’d seen so much of Buttercup he didn’t need xray vision. He wanted everyone to see how fucking beautiful she was, how lucky he is to have two of her. Their hands dragged down his chest and pushed him playfully away. He was drawn like a magnet to her again. Buttercup pieced herself together again. Thank fuck.

He couldn’t handle two of her, what if he couldn’t grow enough hands? Oh. There were four hands around her. Butch stuck out his knee to brace himself adjusting to what life would be like to be Goro from Mortal Kombat. Buttercup accepted his knee and backed up over it. She flicked her hips back and forth, fucking him dry. Her pussy barely protected by the thin fabric he made with his own hands. Part of his hands still part of it, stroking her. All of his fabric a version of himself around her. 

Butch couldn’t believe his eyes. Little versions of himself crawled out from the lace and danced along them like chutes and leaders. They mirrored every movement of his. He was jealous when they begun dancing around her exposed nipples and used the thread like a may pole. How could he get so small to join their fun and games?

Buttercup stepped away then back again when the little Butch’s all cried to be closer to himself. She put her hands on her knees and popped her ass. Between the dulled reality and sobriety he realized Buttercup really was moving. She knew how to dance in a club. Checking over her shoulder and staring him down, her body snapping and popping perfectly in time to the beat. Her hands rubbed down her body mocking him. The little Butches licked at the finger and howled like wolves as she stroked them.

She dropped her ass to the floor and dragged it back up against his body. Years of having shit to do and watching TV to pass the minutes and keep out of trouble reminded him of a specific program and the exact move: The Jersey Turnpike. Butch held the sides of her hips thanking whatever bit of the bomb was stomping him from thrusting himself forward. 

“You,” Butch laughed and moaned in her ear when she was upright. Her snaked his arms around her waist and swished their hips together. “You are so fucking sexy, Buttercup.” She shivered at her own name. Would she see her name dancing over his skin and coming out of his powers if she’d taken a hit of the bomb? He wanted to know her happy thoughts.

He wanted her happy. He wanted to make her happy, to feel her happiness on him. Around him. Butch rubbed her thigh, Buttercup reached to wrap her arms around the back of his head. He kissed her shoulder,

“Keep dancing, Butterbabe.” Butch rolled up the edge of her dress. He could see Buttercup breathe in the entire room. No one else was here, just the music. Just the heat between them. He dragged the fabric up and up, watching his little faces disappear and give way to his name on her skin. The more of her thigh he saw the bigger letting of his name. The bolder the letters became.

Buttercup grabbed his wrist, her panty nearly visible, “Butch!” She gasped taking in more of him. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Butch gestured around them. She couldn’t see what he could see. People dancing with their happy thoughts, invisible bodies, fucking phantoms of air. Pour saps. He had the real deal. “NO one is looking at you.”

Buttercup frowned. His heart fell to the floor. The happy thoughts couldn’t blindside him, it only highlight how unhappy that had made her. Her plush lips turned upside down.

“I’m watching, BC.” Butch fanned his fingers out over her stomach and moved their bodies again. He took the lead in the dance and kept the hem high above her knees. 

“Shh,” He whispered and dipped his fingers into the elastic pressed between her thighs. Buttercup pressed back into his chest. He pushed his knees back between her legs to give her a little support, a seat if she wanted. “Don’t stop moving.” Butch encouraged.

Buttercup moved then stilled as his warm finger pressed the fatty bit of skin at the tip of her triangle. He fingered it with a gentle pet, like he was knocking on a door. Her breath hitched as it dipped lower and into the folds, the handmade panties stretching with Butch’s hand and her dress rolling up on her stomach.

He could see her breath. Hot and heavy, his name hung in the air and buzzed under the bass. Rolling his finger against her clit was like controlling the volume to the entire place. The music got so quiet and Buttercup was L-O-U-D. Her hips rocked back and forth. He rewarded her dance moving his other hand from her stomach to her breast. 

The mixture of drink and pixie dust kept any discomfort at bay as he angled his hand for a better reach, the tip of his middle finger mixed barely inside her pussy. Buttercup tried pulling her dress down to cover his hand,

“Let ‘em see, B.” Butch purred and rubbed his errection into her backside. He looked up and moaned. The discoball just reflecting Buttercup. She reached for him and danced. Everyone should be watching, but no one deserved to see.

“Yes,” Buttercup gasped, one hand covered her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut.

“Baby.” Butch pushed his finger in deeper, “You want them to see how beautiful you are?”

She shook her head, but her eyes opened. She checked to see if anyone was looking. His beautiful girl, she needed to know how gorgeous she was. The moonshine hit hard, made even the smartest stupid.

“Alright sweet cheeks, come on.” Butch pulled her dress back into place and led Buttercup to the outer wall and to the roped off and curtained booths. One look at Butch and the rope was lifted and curtain pulled back to an empty booth. He let her in first and remained out on the otherside for only two minutes.

“First,” Butch gave her a cup of water. They each emptied their glasses quickly, Butch replaced them with another shot of the ‘moonshine.’ Warmth bubbled from Buttercup’s stomach before she could finish every last drop. Butch licked her chin, then the corner of her mouth. Then kissed.

Buttercup felt the world shift. The curtains seemed to sparkle and Butch looked like he had a glow. The music was a bright green, brighter than anything she’d ever seen. When it got too bright it faded to just the right color. Butch lifted her on the table.

“Wanna do something fun?”

“Yeah,” Buttercup laughed and again when Butch swiped his arm along the table knocking every empty glass to the floor. He pushed Buttercup back onto the table as he unzipped her dress. Buttercup’s head was barely on the edge of the table. She checked that the curtain was closed. It was forgotten as teeth grazed her thighs and pulled down her panties to her ankles.

“Oh,” was all she could say as Butch twisted the panties around his wrist like a hair tie. 

“Can I?” Buttercup wanted to see him clearly, without distraction of the lace. Butch shook his head with a smirk.

“I wanted to do something special for you.” Butch stood up right and hollered for someone to clean this shit up. Glass crunched under his boot. He took the server by their bowtie and pulled them in past the curtain threshold. Buttercup had seen something like this before.

This was Butch. THE Butch. The unmistakable back of a man who could do something very bad. His shoulders were set as he pushed the server into the seat. He was across from her stomach, Buttercup pulled down the edges of her dress. “Sit. Stay.” Butch barked as he eased back into the booth between her legs.

Despite the tension Buttercup laughed again, “What is going on?”

“Lime. This is a personal and private show.” Butch rubbed her knees then up to her thighs, “you’re going to watch a man completely crumble.” The waiter looked just as confused as Buttercup did. Under Butch’s gaze however, he dare not move.

“Butch,” She scoffed.

“Watch.” His hand traced her lips. Buttercup shivered and covered her face, this couldn’t be happening! But at least he couldn’t see, he couldn’t see Butch’s fingers slip deep insider her and work her apart. Her hips lifted.

“Yeah?” Butch purred swirling his fingers. “I think he wants to see a little more, Lime.” Butch grabbed her elbows and gently tugged them.

“I think Lime,” She spoke in the third person and kicked up her foot. Buttercup pushed herself up on he elbows and watched the tip of her heel line up with the dip in Butch’s collar bone, tip of her shoe on his Adam’s apple. “Wants you to get to work.”

Buttercup was hungry. His fingers were dawdling when he started talking. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He leaned onto the table, one knee on the edge to give him the angle. He peeled Buttercup’s dress down. His mouth was on her breast, he sucked and nipped away any complaint.

All of her was alive under his lips. He breathed his name into her skin, burning her. Coaxing a yearn out of her. Her body rolled up into his and she watched the unaccounted for bosom bob needily. Buttercup touched it herself. She grasped it, her nipple nestled between her fingers playing a game of peekaboo. Buttercup glanced at the waiter. Had he always been so sweaty and rigid? He didn’t see her staring. His eyes entirely fixated on her chest, on Butch’s mouth trying to fit all of her in a single gulp. It was a lost cause but his done coated her nicely in an apologetic dance. 

Buttercups leg rested over Butch’s shoulder her ankle swirled. Butch crawled ontop of the table as he took her other breast into his mouth. She wished he’d play with her tit, his hand had left her feeling empty without it inside her. Buttercup grabbed a fistful of hair demanding he do something. 

Way ahead of her, she felt the sudden push of heat between her legs then inside her. Buttercup moaned and arched her back. 

“Oh shit,” The waiter said under his breath. 

The table rocked with Buttercups body, Butch pushing and pulling in and out of her. There was no mistaking the heat, the skin, the slickness of her around him. Buttercup moaned again into the music, 

“OH yes,” She cried and rolled her body onto him. 

“Fuck me,” She cried.

Lime had asked, Key would obey. Butch pushed her thigh back and down toward her shoulder. His tongue licked her calf then slid over to her nipple celebrating her flexible bend. His hips bounced against her body, Buttercup couldn’t explain the electricity on her skin. Every pour shouted yes, more! Butch’s lips glittered as he came for another kiss. Buttercup licked them clean and the world was bright again, on fire!

She looked to the waiter, his shoulder awkwardly jittery. 

“Butchy,” Buttercup gripped his chin and toward it toward the onlooker.

“You. Show Lime how she makes you feel.” The man looked horrified but jumped to his feet when Butch released Buttercups leg. 

Butch moaned, he felt Buttercup’s excitement squeeze around him, her pussy fluttered and he nodded, oh yes. He had felt that. Though he was frowning and looked at the server again, his cock out and dribbling around his hand.

“Don’t be jealous,” Buttercup jerked Butch’s attention back to her. “You’re the one fucking me. Let him dream.”

“Such a hero,” Butch snarled he pulled himself up right, he grabbed Buttcercup’s hips and dragged her body closer to the edge, farther away from unwanted cocks looking to pop. This was his moment. He was going to get to see this and he didn’t want to share his prize. But Buttercup wanted to be seen. She wanted someone to be jealous of her. TO want her and suffer because they couldn’t have her.

His good girl was such a bitch, Butch thrusted his hips into her making her breasts bounce. He loved it. He loved watching her try and wring his cock with her tight cunt. He wanted to fill her up so full she’d spill over. Butch shuddered and made a show of his gyration. 

Buttercup to rubbed her breasts and bit her fingers, “more. More!” She panted and looked to see the man was watching her. His wrist flicked wildly, his cheeks flush and eyes lost. Butch slapped his hand on the table blocking her eyes from making contact. He kissed her neck up to her lips until he couldn’t breath, when the Tinker Bomb replaced every thought with absolute elation. He saw her come apart in slow motion. Her eyes flutter and roll back into her head. Her fingers clawed the plastic table top and her toes curled. 

Butch bit his lip and pulled out of Buttercup. The black light and Tinker Bomb made this a true sight as white fell from her entrance. His name poured out of her, hot and stuck to her. Her hips lifted and humped the air, riding out the feeling, drinking in the trinkle that poured out of her. He wished she could see it the way he saw, the bright white glow white and his name pulsating inside her. First the B falling out, then the U the T, but the C caught on her lips. Butch stuck his finger inside of her. 

Buttercup yelped and prayed a senselessly babble as he whipped out the C and H. 

“Tie.” Butch held out his hand to their on looker. He gave he with a shaking hand, eyes staring at the own mess over his pant leg. Butch wiped Buttercup clean first, then swabbed his own cock. He tossed the soiled fabric at the guy’s face. He made a kissy face,

“Get the fuck out of here.” Butch jerked his chin. He pulled Buttercup up right when he was gone and held her cheeks.

“Everyone is watching you here,” he said. Even in the high and in his danced, he saw eyes bouncing off of Buttercup and to Butch. They quickly looked away, fearful of a Ruff’s rage. “No one is going to be caught dead ogling my girl.”

Buttercup didn’t know what to think as equally as she couldn’t think. The music was so colorful and the lights were pulsating with a song she knew Bubbles and Blossom liked. Buttercup blinked as Butch ran his thumb over his lip,

“Sorry B. I think you got a little dusted.” 

“Oh.” Was that why she felt so light and uncaring? Everything felt good though odd, Butch called her his girl. They hadn’t been anything before, but maybe in club with criminals and villains it was best to accept the label if only to save her a headache later. 

Butch laughed, “Holy shit you did! Damn girl, damn.” He held her cheeks and kissed the center of her head, his voice deep and gravely as he apologized. Buttercup could see the words hitting his chest like little mini earthquakes. 

“No, Butch, no—.” Buttercup gathered her top and hugged it to her chest, Butch hugged her close, 

“Hey, hey. It’s all good, Butterbabe. This is okay. We just gotta head out. It wears off quicker, you’ve hardly had any. Cool? You okay?” he zipped her dress up and gentle held her chin.

“Can you drive?” He laughed and doubled forward and kissed her thigh. 

The words coming out of his mouth had all been impossible. His girl. Drive his car. But Buttercup wouldn’t fight it if fresh hair would clean her system. How stupid was she? Stupid. Stupid. God if her sisters saw her like this, if they knew what she had done they’d never let her show her face in public again. Just as soon as they left the curtained booth, Butch pushed her back in.

She scowled pointed her finger at his chest, “hey. You said.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going. I just. Hold on,” He stepped out, Buttercup could see his hand keeping the curtain shut, when he did open it again he had another cup of water and a double shot of the ‘moonshine’. 

“Bottoms up,” he toasted his stout cup against hers. 

“Idiot,” Buttercup clucked her tongue before chugging back her water. She didn’t finish the cup, instead passed it along to Butch. He stared at the glass in disbelief before an unrecognizable grin took over him. He kissed her shoulder and thanked her twice and finished it off.

Free of the curtain, Butch flew her to the elevator. Just inside the doors, he waved. His grin wasn’t haughty but familial. Buttercup wanted to crane and see who could pull a look like that out of Butch. She never saw him with anybody. Undoubtedly he had a life beyond the studio or boutique, but it was hard to imagine. A lot of him was hard to imagine or even recognize though it was staring her in the face. Immediately he pulled out his phone and sent texts quick as they came. Whoever they were was even a saved contact.

The valet hadn’t even handed Butch the keys, he tossed it directly to Buttercup and only opened her door on the driver’s side. Maybe he came with women often and this was standard practice. Buttercup checked Butch was buckled first then pulled off her mask and tossed it in the backseat. Good riddance. 

~x~

“This isn’t home,” Butch groaned he leaned over Buttercup to check out her window incase his side had been wrong. She shoved him back, 

“Stay.” Buttercup took the keys with her into the drugstore. She didn’t look up at the cashier with her purchase of the morning after pill, bottle of water, and a bag of flaming hot Cheetos because she deserved it. Buttercup wasn’t even out the door when she started popping open the box.

“Hold this,” Buttercup passed along the chips and water. Butch took the box from her as well, 

“Shit. Yeah. Do you girls have those parts?” He asked with a goofy grin, drugs still pulling at his muscles. He cracked the bottle open for her and changed hands for her trash.

“We have periods. We’re the perfect girls so.” Just because none of them had popped out a child yet didn’t mean it could be in the future.

“You’re not like. On the pill?”

Buttercup snapped her head to the side, she closed the bottle and swallowed two pills. The little plan B pill and the harder yet to swallow that she was broke and birth control wasn’t exactly free. Butch pushed the water bottle hard at his chest. He was lucky it wasn’t her fist. “Fuck off,” Buttercup said bitterly unwillingly to explain the cost of the pill. The cost that didn’t have the need since she wasn’t fooling around a lot. Did it even work on the girls? Blossom gathered they shouldn’t take the risk and had mention to the professor he ought to look into making them something special. Something specific for their body chemistry. If it was a project at the top of the list he hadn’t mentioned it to Buttercup.

“Sorry,” Butch apologized as she got the car going again. 

“Don’t be. I used cash from your wallet.” At last he took the hint and went quiet. She’d pay him back later, have him take it out of her paycheck. Buttercup just wanted to get the pill in fast. Butch only pipped up again at the Taco Bell. He crawled over her lap, shouting about nachos.

“Sit down asshat. Hi.” Buttercup kept her hand over his face and spoke into the speaker box collecting on the dinner Butch had promised her. He leaned over her to give money to the cashier and hugged the bags in his lap when Buttercup passed them to him. Greasy taco bell would soak up the booze, an instant hang over cure! Not really, but she liked tacos anyway. No doubt they’d be soggy when they got back and after a shower. Sometimes it was the crumbling dripping shell that really sold it.

Butch picked out the nacho fries and earned a small smile from Buttercup as he fed her on the drive. Home, Buttercup carried up the bags and let Butch handle the drinks. 

“Quick shower?” She asked. Butch unlocked the studio,

“Yeah. Fuck,” He burped and pointed at the bathroom door, “Don’t forget to piss.” Buttercup kicked him in the ass and parted ways across the room. Buttercup left the bags of food on the table next to piles of fabric and disappeared into the washroom, while Butch took the door up to the stairs to his bedroom on the top floor. 

The tacos would already be soggy. It was cold outside and Butch’s place was fairly warm, but the food had likely already gotten cold in the car. It was reason enough to take her time scrubbing every inch of her clean. Her hair had been wet before she even got into the shower, damp with sweat that was likely a mixture of her’s and Butches. She took the head of the shower from the way and sprayed every crevasse of her body. The water never ran cold like at her apartment. A warm shower was only good for ten minutes at the most. This was like the gym, a constant warm stream. Only here she was spoiled with luxury soaps and shampoos. 

When she had cut the water, Buttercup shivered. The cold in the air enough to suck the steam out the moment the heat wasn’t present. She peaked around the plastic curtain and swore, desperate to clean the mess of her body she hadn’t noticed the lack of towels.

“Dammit, Butch.” Buttercup growled and stepped out on the small rug. She shook her hands trying to speed up the air dry. She could use the hair dryer?

Her plan was interrupted by a quick knock, “Hey.” Butch turned the handle but barely cracked the door open. He held out a black towel.

“You hear me bitching you out?” Buttercup laughed, then stopped. It was soft and warm, like it’d just come from the dryer. “Damn dude,” She smiled and pressed it to her face then around her body.

“Oh just wait princess,” His hand came back through the crack with a bundle of clothes. Buttercup set them on the counter. “Hurry up.” He shut the door without any real sense of rush.

Buttercup nuzzled her face in the fabric again before toweling herself dry. She used one of the lotions in the medicine cabinet to moisturize. Butch kept more feminine scents in the cabinet, she appreciated the touch though recognized some as a familiar scent on Butch. She pulled on the shirt, thin and soft and quickly tied her hair up back in the towel for it to soak the water up.

“The Gorillaz,” She checked the back in the mirror, a tour shirt. Another reminder that Butch had an entire life she didn’t know about. He went to clubs, he had friends beside her, he sewed. Apparently he went to concerts that he could just vibe at. Her smile grew at the underwear, cotton and comfortable. She pulled at a stray green thread from the matching elastic on the black fabric. She’d have to congratulate him breaking into the comfortable and reasonable underwear market. The sweat pants were too big, Townsville own hockey team ‘MonStArs’ printed on the side. She knotted the drawstring twice and they still fell low on her hips. She didn’t mind with the length of his shirt. All of her warm and comfortable, still impressed he thought to toss anything in the dryer for her comfort.

“Dude,” Buttercup groaned, all of her food was gone! “Butch!”

“Come upstairs Butterbitch!” He called from the beyond, the door wide open. It had never been really off limits, he might have joked about it being his space. But he never made real threats or even kept anything locked up. She came up slowly, even the stair case a mystery though it was nothing special or memorable she checked every stair before she stepped, like one would spring into a trap. At the threshold, she was surprised to find the floor plan not nearly as open as the studio. There was a laundry room beside the bathroom. The kitchen area had an island that felt like a barrier to the rest of the flat. Everything else was all together.

His bedroom across from the living room. His TV giant and hung on a wall, she felt you could see it from any angle. There was a futon and beanbag chair, a pool table and darts. A basketball net on the back of a door. Two old arcade games in a corner. It was wide, spacious, and well lived in. His bed wasn’t made and there were rolled up blankets on the couch. Posters covered a lot of the walls, some even framed. There were piles of clothes in front of a walk-in closet. She had no idea Butch was that into clothes! Making them yes, but wearing them too?

Buttercup was slow to enter the room, the further in the more like a stranger she felt. She didn’t know this person. He wasn’t Butch the Rowdyruff, this was Butch the bachelor. He waved her to the right side of the flat, near the entertainment center.

“You have fish,” She couldn’t believe the full-sized aquarium, a gentle blue glow and a babble. They hid at her approach. If you asked her before all this if a Ruff could be trusted with any living thing, Buttercup would have laughed and launched a rescue effort. Beside the fish were magazines about fish. He cared. He was living like anyone else and all anyone could see, including herself, was the monster he was born to be.

“Kotatsu.” Butch grinned and lifted the edges of the blanket, their Taco Bell on the table. Buttercup joined him on her own cushion. The table was ontop of a heater, the blanket trapping the heat in around them. 

“Where did you get one?”

“My brothers and I all have one. There was a wedding we went to in Japan, in the winter. Cold as fucking tits.”

He was wearing another Gorillaz shirt, though this had been cut to be more of a tanktop, it looked like it was from one of their first tours. She only noticed he was in long shorts when he got up to get them Gatorade from the fridge. 

They ate talking mostly about fish. He told Buttercup he could kick her ass at pool, then she’d probably beat him blind in pacman. Even though he had the arcade game, he just fucking sucked.

“And the pinball machine?” She asked.

“I’d decimate you.” He spent a lot of time playing games, he said. Sometimes that’s how he spoke to his brothers. They’d all be online and play co-op.

“I’m surprised to see that,” Buttercup pointed her burrito at a framed photo of the trio. All the brothers dressed in suits, smiling at the camera. 

“That’s the wedding,” He explained. “Shit. We can clean up too,” He teased. “They sent all of us that picture.” That wasn’t the surprising part. Buttercup couldn’t believe he had it hanging up in a place so easily seen. She saw the brothers as constant rivals, someone they were always trying to out do and keep secrets from. But alone, they could enjoy their familial company.

Butch cleaned up the trash and took the towel from Buttercup’s head to the laundry hamper. She stood and started on to the door,

“The fuck, B?”

“What? It’s bed time.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Buttercup repeated then followed his gesture to his bed. She crossed her arms, nervous. A little unsure. Excited? Was it okay to sleep in the same bed, sure he called her ‘his girl.’ He’d been high and it was just in show. Buttercup didn’t know what they were or if she wanted them to be anything.

“Nah, I mean. You can have my bed.” Butch itched his nose, “My couch is like bed my half the time anyway. I crash all the time.”

“Oh. But, no, Butch. I can take the couch.”

“Butterscotch, take the damn bed.” Butch’s hands were as warm as his smile. He took her hands and tugged her to him, then pushed her toward the bed. He’d never called her something so _sweet_. Her cheeks were blushing. She went straight to bed just to hide the fact.

The comforter, pillows, and sheets smelled like him. Cologne. She pushed her nose against the fabric, a long smooth breath drew in the scent. Nothing overpowering, just comforting. Butch cut the lights. His feet dragged in his slippers across the floor and he grunted as he hit the cushions. There had been silence, apart from the aquarium. 

Then the sound cut in, all around her. Buttercup jumped a mile.

“Fuck, fuck—sorry! I was putting in my headphones and the Bluetooth hooked up.” Butch’s sound system wasn’t limited to the studio floor apparently. 

“It’s fine,” Buttercup breathed, “I mean. I liked it. What are you listening too?” She asked though she knew the answer. There was a pause. A moment of consideration. Buttercup was glad for it. Butch wasn’t as dumb as the world made him. Blankets rustled as he came to his bed and laid on the side opposite of her and pointedly over the covers.

The LED screen of his phone lit Butch’s face up. He offered her a headphone. Neither made mention they had just heard the music on the sound system. That they didn’t need to share ear buds. But they did. Buttercup’s heartbeat in the wire was slowly replaced with Daft Punk. Not one of their high energy songs. This was slow and jazzy. Unsettling. The lyrics were too telling, too relative.

There was something about them. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. There was something that needed to be done. A secret that could be known, Buttercup didn’t know if she was ready to hear it in words. Let a secret stay silent, stay a stranger. 

She laid her hand in the middle of the bed, a test. Staring at the ceiling she didn’t see his hand, inches away, the wide girth of a King’s bed gave the couple too much room for mistakes. They had their palms turned up right waiting for the other to engage in the touch. Both waiting, both afraid to ask the question:

What the hell is going on between us?  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> There will be future fictional drug use, though maybe not always the Tinker Bomb.
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> PPG spotify playlist to help inspire (though when I write I actually tend to listen to scores explicitly): [My PPG RRB play list](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6P2vaXadqkvPRmRGbO1dtP?si=iag845hjRGq2xklO8J4b7g)
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> PS usual reminder: I don’t have a beta or patience to properly edit myself. Fanfic is an outlet for my original stories that do require a deeper edit.  
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> Please comment. It helps keep my motivation solid. I haven’t even started on the next chapter so I could def use it.
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> Thanks for reading all, stay safe and healthy. Mask up.  
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